Shadows of an Empire
by SpartAl412
Summary: Altdorf, Capital of The Empire and once the home of Sigmar Heldenhammer. For many years this city has served as the seat of power to the Imperial Throne, but dark dark forces stir under its proud spires, forces which seek to bring ruin to the realms of the Empire. Amidst the shadows, the paths of heroes will cross, where mighty enemies will be fought and alliances will be forged.
1. A Night Out I

**Author's Note: I will be going over this story from time to time so expect edits and changes overtime**

* * *

**ACT I: A Night Out**

* * *

Picking up a crossbow bolt and loading it into the wood and copper casing of a repeater magazine, Vanyra Skorrisdottir worked in silence within her modest room at the "Hearth & Brew Inn". Three days earlier, she had arrived in Altdorf along with a mercenary from Kislev. The two had parted ways at the city gates, where the Kislevite went she did not know, Vanyra on the other hand had asked for directions to one of the city's dwarf districts. Now located at the Metallschlack district where much of Altdorf's stone and metal working industry occurs, it was nice for her be back amongst her kind and to see how the _Ruebatuki_ had carved a nice place for themselves in the heart of the Empire.

She had been a bit awed at first to see the Imperial capital; never had she been to a place with so many different people from different cultures and races. She saw dwarfs both from her homeland of _Karaz Ankor_ and those who had been born and raised in the Empire rubbing shoulders with _Grombolgi_, the various _umgi, _she had even seen massive and smelly _ogri_ mercenaries walking down a street. She had also seen for the first time in her life the _elgi_; of course she would have been happy enough not to see those pointy eared _drakk_-fondlers. Her feelings for the city though had been rather marred by the filth and stink of it though.

Vanyra was clad in a simple tunic of bright red with a gold trim; she sat down on a wooden chair of human craftsmanship built for the size of dwarfs. Beside her was a table of a similar design, upon it was her iron tool box which contained the essential items she needed for her maintenance, repairs and construction of new equipment. Laid out upon it was also her entire array of neatly arranged explosives, her sword, wrench, repeater crossbow and rifle as well as the respective ammunition of the two ranged weapons. Loading the last bolt into place, she sealed the magazine and went about making sure her crossbow was in working condition.

She briefly looked to her bed, upon it was a thick book, bound in urk-hide and locked with a runic brass mechanism, her personal _Dammaz-Kron_. Within its fresh pages were the written records of oaths, debts, grudges of her clan. It was the reason why she had left _Karaz Ankor_ and in a way she was grateful to have it, for it gave her the reason she needed to see the world outside of the mountains and to see the places she had only ever read about.

Looking back to her crossbow, she reached for the tools and pulled out several steel instruments and began making further adjustments. Loosening the pressure here, tightening a screw there, and using a rag to make sure there was no dust and grit to interfere with the mechanisms, she found her work to be both calming and rather meditative. Raising the weapon up to her eye level, she took aim and fired the unloaded weapon. Satisfied that it should be in proper working order, she went towards her rifle and began its maintenance.

Already she had found who she was looking for to eliminate one of the minor entries in her _Kron_. Her brother had been an adventurer before he became a Slayer; he traveled with a group of humans on many quests. Among them was a fellow by the name of Lugo Bauer, an Imperial mercenary she remembered her brother had spoken well off from the letters he would often send home. She had asked around for a man by that name, it took her two days of inquiries among the local guardsmen and some other dwarfs until she found out where he lived.

When she had found the location of Lugo's home, she did not expect it to be in some rat's nest slum where she had to keep her hands on the grips of her weapons as the local humans seemed to eye her with a predatory look. She had expected to find a tall and strong human who would be dressed in a foppish way humans often enjoyed, it turned out that he was quite not what she had expected.

She eventually found Lugo living in an overcrowded tenement where a lot of dirty looking human children were gathering around her and were excitedly asking inane questions from her. She was eventually directed to a rather plump (to put it politely) human woman named Gertrud who turned out to be Lugo's wife. Gertrud had brought Vanyra to her husband of whom she described with a very colorful and creative but none too charming series of adjectives which would even make a _grobi_ cry after hearing it.

She found Lugo to be passed out drunk in a pool of his own vomit while a number of mangy rats seemed to be wondering if they should eat him or not. After Gertrud gave him a few sharp kicks to his rather prodigious stomach and shouting some harsh insults, the man eventually got up groaning and clearly hung over.

Time had clearly not been kind to Lugo for he was an obese and slightly hunch backed man with a lot of missing teeth, cauliflower ears, balding and greasy grey hair around the sides, a glass right eye which looked cracked and his beard was something even a _Wanaz_ would balk at. He was even missing his left hand which was replaced by a rusty hook, like in the stories she had heard about pirates.

The man gave Vanyra a rather confused and stupid look before his wife upended a flimsy wooden pail of filthy cold water over his head. The two humans quickly began arguing before Vanyra was forced to politely cough and remind them of her presence. When the two stopped arguing the wife left them be, and Vanyra had explained her quest to Lugo. The man quickly seemed to regain his wits when the dwarf mentioned her brother, a nostalgic look came over his eye one good eye.

According to Lugo it had been over twelve years since he had last met Thori, he became genuinely saddened when Vanyra told him of her brother's recent passing. He seemed surprised when Vanyra mentioned that her brother owed him a debt of ten gold crowns from a bet they had once taken. According to Lugo it was a drunken bet over who could kill more goblins when they were adventuring at Hochland, they even had to fight said goblins while drunk as well.

The man then spoke to her in a surprisingly solemn manner that if she wanted to repay him, she could do so by helping him with his work as a sewerjack. He even promised that he would consider the debt repaid if she helped him with some "business" he had to take care of down in the sewers. Of course she had been wary at first and asked if it was anything illegal. Lugo seemed honest about whatever it was he needed not being illegal, but there was something about it which did not seem right. After setting an appointment and a meeting time, Vanyra agreed to meet the man the following day at The Street of a Hundred Taverns.

After performing some maintenance upon her rifle, she began taking stock of her explosives. She had four fire bombs, five explosive bombs, two canisters which contained alchemical acids. She also had a new one she wanted to try out, this particular new explosive was partly coated in a gooey adhesive which should be able to stick to a target she would throw it out and after three seconds it would explode and shower the poor bastard which was stuck as well as anyone near it with a hail of razor-sharp metal shards.

Looking to her sword with its bronze hilt and ancestor face upon the guard, she began polishing it with a rag; she would do the same with her heavy wrench which worked as well as a mace, and then she cleaned her chain mail armor. When her equipment was cleaned, she then took stock of how much powder and shot she still had for her rifle. Deciding that perhaps she should stop by and purchase some more later or tomorrow at a shop called "Hargrim's Thundering _Thrunds_", she went about gearing herself up for tonight.

Tying her shoulder length, auburn hair with a cord, she slowly began to form it into a single plait behind her head. She then began equipping herself in an almost ritualistic fashion. First was her chain mail armor which was worn under her tunic, then her orc-hide boots and gloves.

She then attached her now sheathed sword to her belt on her right hip and her wrench on her left. She took three of the incendiary bombs, which she also attached to her belt and finally her cloak, the sticky bomb would have to wait for another day. After fastening her stone grey cloak and picking up her quarrels of crossbow bolts, she knew that she had an appointment to make.

* * *

Blocking his opponent's axe by thrusting the handle of his own training axe, Khorieus caught the blunted steel axe behind its beard. Pushing forwards with all of his might, his opponent of whom was a tall and broad, fair-skinned _Asur_ with golden hair and was wearing a common archer's uniform. Eolanir Sunmane quickly recovered as his feet touched the ground he and went into a defensive stance, he panted heavily as they sparred.

'It seems time has been most kind to you my lord' panted Eolanir as sweat poured from his brow.

He began spinning his axe in a dizzying pattern which was meant to make an opponent keep guessing where the White Lion would strike next. It was a technique Khorieus himself was quite familiar with for he had taught it to many young warriors over the centuries.

'I see that standing around and guarding merchants has not dulled your own skill old friend' Khorieus replied good heartedly with a smile as he stood still in a defensive stance with his right hand close to the head of his axe.

Both high elves were garbed in the white and red robes of common Chracian Archers, Khorieus breathed heavily as he quickly shifted into an aggressive stance. It felt good to be speaking in proper _Eltharin_ to other _Asur_, the two of them were currently located in the training area of the Ulthuan Embassy's guard barracks.

'How fares you daughter?' Khorieus asked his old comrade fondly, for Eolanir had served Khorieus for centuries as a second in command, a standard carrier and occasional chariot driver.

'You taught her too well my lord' Eolanir replied as he began advancing towards Khorieus, he quickly began zigzagging from left to right. 'The girl thinks she will be the next Korhil thanks to you' he calmly said as he swung his axe high.

Ducking underneath the strike which would have decapitated Khorieus had it been a true weapon; Khorieus smacked the butt of his axe's handle into Eolanir's left hip.

'Captain Korhil is a good role model for the young' Khorieus said good-heartedly as he leapt back to avoid a knee kick to the chest. 'Is she still assigned to the host which monitors the Waystones?' the highborn asked.

'Indeed my lord' Eolanir replied while raising his left hand and the head of his axe rested upon the marble floor. 'Isha's Tears' Eolanir panted 'At your age, most elves begin slowing down, it is as if you have just been improving since Finuval' he said referring to the Battle of Finuval Plains over two centuries ago.

'The war did not end for me their mind you' Khorieus reminded him for Eolanir had been severely injured during the battle for Finuval and had been out of action for months. 'I trust little Ehlenie is still alive and well?' he asked with a bit of paternal concern. He had personally trained Ehlenien Sunmane a century ago, she was his finest student and a born warrior, and he was honored to have been her teacher, as he had done with many other younger elves. He had not seen Eolanir's daughter in over ninety years now.

'She left Altdorf two days before you arrived my lord' Eolanir said as he stood up and bowed, signifying that their sparring session was over. Khorieus bowed as well and the two warriors set their training axes upon one of the weapon racks. 'A shame really' Eolanir as he wiped his left sleeve over his brow 'she would have been very happy to see you my lord'

'A pity I did not arrive sooner then' Khorieus with a shrug. He had arrived in Altdorf three days prior in the company of a Battle Wizard Lady of the Amethyst Order.

The Wizard Lady had proven to be a most skilled and excellent fighter, both physically and in matters of the arcane. The two had parted ways but not before the wizard had given him directions to reach the Ulthuan Embassy. The two warriors of Chrace soon parted ways as well; Khorieus himself had been given special accommodations, the kind often reserved for influential Highborn.

Already Khorieus knew how this worked; one of the ambassadors or perhaps an envoy from one of the merchant houses was likely trying to curry favor from him. He really was not surprised that even here in the lands of men, the wealthy and powerful would continue their petty political games. Although Khorieus himself was a landless noble with no great wealth or property, he knew that his name still carried weight; he was really hoping that his people would have forgotten it but knew that it was unlikely.

Walking towards his quarters, he found it to be guarded by a pair of spearmen who gave him sharp salutes. Nodding to the soldiers, they opened the door and allowed him through, it was likely that whoever it was that gave Khorieus his quarters wanted someone to keep an eye on him. He had made a few enemies in the past among Lothern's nobility; he would not be surprised if it was one of them for the dwarfs were not the only ones who could hold a grudge.

If it was though, then he had no worries. Among the Asur, outright assassination of one's enemies was simply against the etiquette of Lothern's Noble Houses. If one of the Houses wanted him dead, it would have to be in a "fair" and most importantly public fight. Khorieus himself had permanently ended the careers of many professional duelists of whom were nothing more than hired killers, his opinion of said professional duelists was even lower than that of the Druchii Assassins who at least were honest about the nature of their careers.

Awaiting him in his opulent quarters was a young human servant girl with pale skin, chestnut-brown hair and eyes which were also of a similar color. Clad in a dress of white and lavender, the human girl bowed with subservience as he entered. The girl had set a series of fresh clothes for the high elf to which were laid upon his bed, his armor had been sent to the armory of the guard barracks where a Disciple of Vaul named Valorian tended to the weaponry and armor of the guards. The Disciple of the smith god also produced and maintained a number of mildly enchanted weapons which was kept around when the embassy needed to curry favor from Imperial nobles. Telling the girl to rise, he saw her look upon him with that sense of awe and wonderment he often noted when humans see his race.

'What is your name child?' Khorieus asked in a polite tone.

'Annaliese my lord' the girl said with a bow again. She must be new he thought, for in Lothern where humans can be found working as servants or residing in the Foreign Quarters, many of them quickly got over that strange phase of being in awe to his kind.

'Are you new here?' asked Khorieus knowing what the answer would be.

'Yes my lord' the girl said obediently 'I just arrived in the city with my parents from Averland two weeks ago'

'Do you enjoy working here in the embassy? Do my kin treat you well?' he asked again. He never understood why hiring human helpers was so popular in Lothern, probably it was some way for the Lothernese nobles and merchants to help make themselves feel superior to the other races. So unlike his late wife he thought with a bit of disgust towards them.

'It is the best my lord' the girl said with an innocent smile 'the high ones are respectful and with the money I receive, I can afford to rent a townhouse for my family' a sad look then came upon the girl's face and she looked away

'Is something wrong?' he asked

The girl shook her head and looked to him with a smile 'I have a brother I wish had joined us before we left for Altdorf' she said 'He was conscripted to the State Army of Averland, his last letter said he would be posted in Black Fire Pass'.

Khorieus knew a little about this Black Fire Pass, supposedly it was where the founder of the Empire, Sigmar Heldenhammer had won a great victory along with the stunted rock eaters against the greenskin hordes. 'I am sure he is alive and well' the elf said while feigning sympathy and a smile.

'His name is Dieter, my lord. Dieter Jensen' the girl said with a sad smile.

'Then I am sure Dieter Jensen is alive and well'. He said with further feigned sympathy.

After dismissing the girl, he was glad to be alone. Well what now? He thought, the Disciple of the Smith God said he would take at least seven days to finish repairing the Chracian's armor. Khorieus supposed that he could go look around Altdorf and see what crude sights or what changes were made since the last time he had been to the city nearly two hundred years ago. He remembered hearing about a place called The Street of a Hundred Taverns; supposedly one could see all kinds of people.

He really could go for a drink anyway, who knows? He might even run into some thugs who might try to try pick a fight with him. With a smile, he thought he could use a bit of exercise. Putting on the fresh clothes of which were a simple yet elegant robe of white and yellow and then his enchanted lion cloak which was freshly cleaned, he decided that perhaps he should go for a night out.

* * *

Arriving at The Street of a Hundred Taverns, Vanyra remembered which one Lugo had wanted to meet at. Speaking to one of the local guardsmen on patrol, she asked the man for the location of a "Mandred's Glory". After being given a rather lengthy description of how to get there, she handed the guardsman a pair of pfennigs before making her way to the Tavern.

All around her she saw so many taverns with a dizzying array of signs. She saw all kinds of people too from wizards with multiple colors of robes, Halflings carting pies; dark-skinned humans with the funny head cloths and curved swords from Araby. She passed by a fair-skinned human lad in chain mail and wearing a tabard of a sun with a face on it, he was leading a tall hooded person by hand of whom moved with an odd grace, an elf she guessed with disdain.

Her senses were assailed by everything that was around her. She could smell that noxious yet delectable mélange of cooking meats, fresh-baked bread, smelly fish, beers and ale of varying quality, human waste and perfume both good and bad. There were so many different colors from the signs on the taverns to the garments of the people around her. She heard music, laughter, shouting, fighting and more lewd things from between the alleyways. There was a certain life and energy to Altdorf to which not even _Karaz-a-Karak_ could compete with.

She passed by a performing human bard with long curled dark brown hair and an impressive moustache and goatee, he wore a crimson and cream loose billowed shirt which partly revealed his chest and tight trousers which accentuated the shape of his legs. The man sang a beautiful sounding song in what she thought was Estalian, there was something about him which seemed off but she couldn't quite put her finger on it. Shaking her head and remembering that she had an appointment, she left the singing bard who was surrounded by several men and a certainly large number of women who were entranced by him.

Finally making her way to the Mandred's Glory, she noted the sign of the tavern depicting a bearded bald-headed human man wearing a crown. The human on the sign rested the Skullsplitter over his right shoulder as he winked and gave a toothy grin, in his left hand he held up a large dead rat with Xs for eyes as its tongue stuck out. She could hear the barking of dogs from inside as well, she noted a number of the humans who were coming and going seemed to be carrying small cages and a variety of cheap weapons.

She then noted another wooden signboard under the first; it depicted a grinning and filthy looking gap, toothed man holding a dead rat in one hand and a foaming tankard of ale in the other. Under the man on the sign were words carved into barely legible Reikspiel it said "Rat Catchers & Sewerjack Guild meeting tonight". Guess its full tonight she thought.

Hearing a clatter of metal plates, she looked behind her to see two human men moving towards the tavern, one was clearly a knight in plate armor save for his head which was covered in a coif of chain mail. The knight carried a sword and mace by the sides of his belt and a shield on his back; he wore a white and red tabard depicting a snarling boar. Beside him was a darker skinned but surprisingly attractive human man with long black hair and a short stubble which covered his lower jaw, the man wore dark brown leathers and a cloak of forest green. She noted the second man had a short sword, a hatchet, a longbow and a pair of daggers on him.

The two humans spoke in what she thought was Bretonnian as they went into the Tavern, the knight went around her and the other man glanced down at her with a grin, she grinned back at the rather attractive man. As they were about to enter she saw Lugo stumble out of the swinging double doors of the tavern. The man staggered, he looked like he had a bit too much to drink and he bumped into the knight who pushed Lugo away and berated the man in an accented Reikspiel. Lugo gave the knight a rude hand gesture and he continued to walk towards Vanyra, the knight snorted and shook his head as his companion followed him into the tavern.

Lugo stopped merely four feet away from her. She could smell the cheap _grog_ on his breath; the man wore a ragged leather jacket which certainly had seen better days. The man's clothes were worn out and the only thing which seemed decent on him was a fine dwarf-made mace which was tied to the left side of his belt.

'Took ya long 'nuff lassie' Lugo slurred, he looked almost ready to drop.

'What?' Vanyra said trying to conceal her disgust for his current mental state 'This is the exact time you told me to meet you, an hour after sun down'.

'Oh really' the man slurred again in a questioning tone, he then shrugged 'Guess I… Guess I got ere too early' he said as he began to look like he would lose his balance.

Grunting while rolling her eyes, Vanyra gently poked his belly with her wrench which seemed to wake him up. 'Right lets go then!' the man said with drunken enthusiasm as he unhooked his mace and lifted it. 'Tally ho and all' he then just stood there swaying.

'Okay… where then are we supposed to go manling?' Vanyra asked as she began to wonder exactly what her brother saw in this fellow.

'Oh what?' the man said as he looked around it seemed like he did not even know she was there 'oh right-right-right, the Glory 'ere 'as a 'ole that goes down to the sewers'. The man then began chuckling to himself and he repeated "Glory 'ole" and he began chuckling again.

Not quite sure what he meant she simply said 'lead the way then'. She followed Lugo to a large manhole behind the tavern. She noted that there were a number of scruffy looking cats which lazed around the manhole. Lugo used his hook to lift up the hole from the side, he took a deep breath of the fetid stench which was absolutely the worse thing Vanyra Skorrisdottir had ever smelled. She gagged and coughed as the stench assailed her but Lugo seemed to be invigorated by it.

'Sorry 'bout the smell lass' he said with a cheery grin 'ya get used to it in time'

Wishing that she had brought a perfumed scarf or a mask filled with posies, Vanyra Skorrisdottir just wished she had something or anything to block out the horrid smell. With a grunt she waited for the man to go first before she herself went in amidst the horrid stench of human waste. As she went down the man-hole, she caught a weak but familiar animal stench which caused her to grit her teeth in anger.

* * *

'Well you a pretty one' purred the scarred Kislevite woman with ash blonde hair and purple-black eyes. She spoke with a heavily accented Reikspiel as she rested the side of her face on her left palm, the elbow of which was propped upon the table. The kislevite woman carried a bottle in her right which was labeled in the script of Kislev.

'You are not too bad yourself' Khorieus replied with a grin as he spoke in perfect Kislevarin. The Kislevite woman was dressed in a leather long coat and looked to be of the Gospodar ethnicity among the northern humans.

'You speak my language as well?' she asked with a surprised look as she switched to Kislevarin.

'Indeed' he confirmed 'I was posted for a time in Kislev, after the Great War'.

In the past, Khorieus had fought many battles alongside the Kossars and Winged Lancers against the remnants of the Chaos army of Asavar Kul. The Chracian honestly liked the people of Kislev more than the Empire because they understood what it was like when your home was almost under a constant state of or in readiness for war.

Hearing footsteps from behind, Khorieus saw the barmaid deliver his meal. Currently the Chracian was at a tavern called "_La Guerra I Cani_" which seemed to be a popular spot for mercenaries. Around them were several humans from Tilea, Estalia, Araby, Kislev, Bretonnians, to his disdain even Norscans. Khorieus did notice though the way the Norscans and the Kislevites were looking at each other, it was one of a deep-seated hostility born only of generations worth of bitter fighting.

Among the humans he even noted a scantily clad Truthsayer from Albion with swirling blue tattoos around his flesh. The man from Albion nodded to Khorieus and so did Khorieus before going on with their own businesses. The High Elves had been keeping up regular patrols around the island of Albion ever since that campaign against the Dark Emissaries few years back when it seemed like all the armies of the world were gathering there. Khorieus himself had fought in Albion along with both his kin and the natives and had picked up some of their language.

The barmaid arrived with a platter of cold cut meat and cheeses which she set in front of him. All night, the fair-skinned, freckle faced barmaid with blue eyes and blond hair had been eyeing him with a mischievous and calculating look. The barmaid had lowered the section of her garments which covered her shoulders to reveal more of it, he noted that she had loosened her bodice as well and had made quite the effort to show off more of her rather ample bosoms to him.

The high elf was aware that it was a crude and vulgar tactic to acquire tips from him. Suppressing the urge to roll his eyes at the cheap display, he decided to play along so he did not get spit on the wine he had ordered. He slipped the barmaid a pair of silver coins which she took with a thanks and a playful smile. The woman then gave a look of triumph to the Kislevite woman who grunted with annoyance and quietly called the barmaid a _Blayd_. Khorieus noted some of the jealous expressions of the human men around him and he knew that he should be ready for a fight soon.

The Kislevite woman took a swig of her bottle of kvas of which Khorieus himself had actually acquired a taste for two centuries back.

'So what takes you to this fine city?' the Kislevite woman asked in her language.

'My armor needed repairs and it was either here or Marienburg where I could find a smith who could repair it' Khorieus told her truthfully as well in Kislevarin. 'And you Daughter of the Gospodar? What brings you so far from Kislev?'

'Well I arrived here with-' the Kislevarin said before she stopped and narrowed her eyes.

Khorieus made no move but he could hear the heavy footsteps of four men advancing towards his table. Looking back, Khorieus saw a group of rough-looking men with clad in haphazard sets of furs, he could tell by the angry looks on their faces that they were expecting a fight.

'Why don't you bugger off cat eyes, this place ain't for milk drinking horse fondlers' said one of the humans in a near perfect Reikspiel.

The human was large blond bearded scar faced man with many pox marks and was dressed in furs which revealed his fair colored muscular flesh. Looking to the other men, he noted that most of them also wore furs as well and were all fair-skinned blonde haired, blue-eyed bearded men with that familiar accent he had learned to hate over the centuries. Norscans he thought with disgust, glancing to the Kislevite, he could tell that she felt the same disdain as he had.

He had seen their kind in Lothern's foreign quarters; it had only been at the intervention of a Marienburg merchant that he did not start a fight. The merchant had explained how in Marienburg they had tried to help civilize and uplift the men of Norsca and even hire them out as body guards. Khorieus scoffed at this as he stayed his hand, in the centuries he knew of the Norse, they were nothing more than violent, raping, murderers and savages who worshipped only the Dark Gods. To Khorieus, the Norse were nothing more than animals like the beastmen who should be put down like the monsters they truly are.

'I am quite comfortable where I am' Khorieus replied coldly to the lead Norscan in their own language. Their tongue was something he had learned as well, it was necessary when he needed to "question" any of the savages.

'I did not realize this tavern also allowed Ungors in, how ever did you shave all that fur?' Khorieus then said sardonically with a grin

The Norscans bristled angrily at this; he could see the lead one's cold and angry look as at being compared to the lowest of beastmen. Already, he was getting ready to reach for his hunting knife before the Norscans could reach for their weapons. Hearing an annoyed grunt from the Kislevite woman, she took one last swig from her bottle of Kvas and she swiftly swung it at the side of the head of one of the Norscans. With serpentine swiftness the Kislevite woman rose up from her chair and delivered an uppercut to the Norscan she struck with the bottle from under his bearded chin. There was a loud cheer of "Ura!" from the other Kislevite customers.

Khorieus quickly moved into action as well, with inhuman speed he delivered a swift volley of punches into the stomach of the lead Norscan. Another man launched a lunge punch at the high elf, and Khorieus blocked it with his right forearm before thrusting his left fist into the man who tried to punch him. The Kislevite woman swiftly delivered a knee kick to the groin of the man she had hit with a bottle, and with a backhanded swing of her left fist, she struck the last Norscan in the back of his head.

Another round of "Ura!" from the Kislevites rang out, a number of the other Norscans gave the Kislevites angry looks and it soon became clear that a brawl was going to break out. The other patrons began clearing out with a number clearly having taken their food or drinks without paying yet, the Kislevite and Norscan patrons rose up and began eyeing each other with grim looks. The sounds of several knuckles cracked and as one they shouted warcries in their native tongues before charging at each other while throwing tables, chairs and bottles across the _La Guerra_.

* * *

'_Krut_' hissed Vanyra Skorrisdottir with disgust as she leapt back to avoid a downpour of filthy water mixed with garbage and human waste which dropped from a sluice and down into a canal. Regaining her footing, she looked back to see Lugo grinning at her, the man held up a lantern in his hooked hand while in his other he carried his dwarf forged mace. The man amazingly seemed to have sobered up while they were in the sewer, he moved with the confidence of a veteran warrior.

'Should be near now' the man said with determination.

'Aye, we are' Vanyra nodded, there were skaven about. She could smell their foul stench amidst the human ones and she could see their tracks amidst the filth of the sewers.

'Little bastards got my arm ya see' Lugo said as he raised his hook 'Gonna make some blankets for my kids with their hides' he continued threateningly.

For nearly an hour now, the man had been leading her through the sewers of Altdorf, she was thankful that there were walkways on the sides as such she was glade that she did not have to actually wade into the water. Lugo explained that about a year earlier, he and a group of other sewerjacks had been ambushed by skaven warriors when they had wandered too close to one of the ratmen's outposts. Lugo had lost his hand and was the sole survivor of the party; the same could not be said for the skaven.

At the least, Lugo owed it to his deceased friends that the skaven would need to pay for the deaths of his friend. An honorable reason she thought with approval. She remembered some of brother's letters, about how he and his party had fought the skaven under the cities of the Empire on a number of occasions. She never understood why the humans chose not to believe in the existence of the skaven, it was a testament to their race's foolishness.

The sewers were really what she had expected, a damp stinking place with walls covered in more than two millennia worth of filth. Rats of varying sizes scuttled about along with many vile insects and she could have sworn that there were some strange things swimming in the waters. She had heard stories about wealthy humans trying to show off their wealth by acquiring exotic animals, these were later followed by said noble dumping their exotic pets into the sewers. She wouldn't be surprised if the sorcery and alchemy from the Colleges of Magic had made it down the sewers and altered the beasts as well.

'Where in docks are we now manling?' Vanyra asked for she could still feel the vibrations of the River Reik

'I think we are near the _Basilica del la Opulencia_' the man said a bit unsure

'The what?' she asked curiously

'Fancy new place where a lot o really rich merchants like ta 'ave parties.' Lugo clarified 'Owned by an Estalian fellow'

'Right, I will take point then' Vanyra said, Lugo stepped aside to allow the dwarf to pass. Moving ahead of the man, she moved forwards with caution as they followed the Skaven tracks. Keeping her crossbow at eye level, she began to feel a bit wary. She knew well about the vile ratkin and their tactics, her father had brought her to the tunnels of the _Ungdrin_ in the past to hunt the cowardly creatures.

She had also encountered the skaven as well when she had gone to Zhufbar to study engineering. There was also that time as well in Barak Varr when skaven saboteurs had tried to scuttle many of the ironclad ships and Vanyra as well as a group of other dwarfs had to stop them. Looking to the water, Vanyra's palms began to itch; there was something which just didn't seem right.

'What? What is it?' asked Lugo a bit worriedly as he looked at the filthy water in the canal as well. Vanyra noted what looked to be a thin stick in the center floating in the canal; she looked at it and noted that it was not flowing with the swift current. Realization struck her and she fired two crossbow bolts at the stick, the clacks of her weapon echoed in the sewers as they flew towards and the stick and splashed into the water with impact.

'What in Sigmar's name are ye doing!?' exclaimed Lugo. The water began to turn dark red and a body with two bolts sticking out and clad in black garments floated up and was carried away by the current.

'Night Runners' Vanyra hissed, she then turned to the man with a serious look on her face 'Keep a lookout manling, damn rats have their assassins about.' Lugo nodded in understanding and he further raised his lantern, the two carried on in silence while following the tracks. The ratmen were up to something, Vanyra could just feel it.

* * *

Smashing a three-legged wooden stool into a Norscan's face, Khorieus grinned as the savage fell back with a crushed nose. The stools were of a surprisingly sturdy material and craftsmanship for the high elf had been hitting them with as much force as he would with his axe. All around him was complete mayhem as Kislevites and Norscans unleashed generations of enmity towards one another.

Using his right hand to grab a bottle wielding Norscan by the back of the man's right wrist as he was about to hit the Kislevite woman Khorieus had been chatting with. The Chracian swiftly twisted the man's arm and the elf smashed the back of the man's head with the stool which Khorieus held in his left. The man fell to the wooden floor and the elf kicked the man one last time in the teeth for good measure.

Laughing in feral joy, Khorieus dearly wanted to pull out his knife and start opening up some arteries. He was forced to remind himself that he was in a foreign land where it would be considered murder to kill even kill the barbarians in a brawl. He would have to settle with a good thrashing instead.

The lead Norscan who had taken a jealous offence at Khorieus earlier, thrusting a broken table leg towards the elf's chest. Khorieus dodged to the man's right in time and brought the stool up so the Norscan's arm got caught between the stool's legs which had cross-shaped set of wooden bars between the near bottom of the stool's legs. With a pull he threw the man off-balance and delivered a sharp knee kick to where the man's kidney should be. Khorieus then dropped the stool and he grabbed the man by the shoulders and quickly moved towards the man's back where the elf delivered a swift punch to the man's spine.

Roaring the name of his homeland he began pushing forwards, with the now dazed Norscan as a shield. The elf roared in Kislevarin to get out of his way, he shoved past several humans until he hit the open entrance of the tavern. Emerging into the fetid and cold night air of the Street of a Hundred Taverns with his shield still held in place, Khorieus released his grip and the man was thrown forwards with his face hitting the muddy cobblestone earth.

Breathing heavily with an open-mouthed smile on his face, he saw the eyes of many humans glance at him before going back to their affairs. He saw a group of beggars poking the now dazed Norscan with a stick, after a few pokes they descended upon the man like Harpies upon wounded prey, their hands searching for any valuables the Norscan had. Turning back to rejoin the brawl, Khorieus heard a pair of gunshots from the La Guerra and the fighting stopped as the owner began bellowing for people to leave.

The Kislevites left in a hurry while dragging their wounded friends outs. The Norscans it seemed were not as lucky as they were to limp away on their own. Quickly turning around and deciding to head back to the Embassy for the night, he felt a hand slap him lightly in the buttocks. With eyes widened in surprise, he looked back to see it was the Kislevite woman again, she gave him a lascivious drunken smile. He had seen during the brawl that she had somehow been able to drink more despite the carnage of what went on.

'And where are you going pretty one?' the woman slurred in kislevarin as she swayed around a bit. Her breath smelled not only of Kvas but other human made alcohols of varying qualities

'I was planning on retiring for the night' he replied in kislevarin.

'What? And not give me a goodbye? Winter Visitor!' she said with feigned hurt.

Khorieus chuckled a bit for he found her drunkenness to be comical and he gave her formal courtly bow and said in a formal tone '_Do widzenia_'.

'_Do _widzenia to you too pretty one' the woman replied in a flirtatious tone as she gave him a mock salute, she then staggered off down the Street of Hundred Taverns.

He wondered if he should make sure the woman did not get into more trouble, with a shrug it he decided she should be fine, considering how that brawl went. Making his way back to the embassy, he passed by the stench ridden streets of Altdorf, he really wished that he had something to help mask the smell. As he neared the exit of the Docks district, he began to pick up an unusual smell, it was a mix of sewage, wet fur, rotten meat and that sickly sweet smell he quickly realized was warpstone.

Skaven, he thought with disgust. He had encountered the foul things in the past only once when Lothern was attacked by the vermin. He had assisted the Citizen Levy and Sea Guard of Eataine, he remembered foul stench of their bodies as they clashed blades with his kin. As memories of that bloody battle came back to him, he clenched his fists tightly in anger and decided to investigate.

Removing his knife from its sheath, Khorieus was now on the hunt once more.

* * *

'Ready manling?' Vanyra whispered as she began to ready herself.

'Aye ready' Lugo whispered back. A tense moment of silence passed before Vanyra swiftly pointed her crossbow up to the ceiling and she opened fire.

Four crossbow bolts flew and three bodies fell into the filthy waters with shrieks of pain. She leapt back and nearly struck Lugo as she avoided a pair of Gutter Runner Shurikens which struck the floor where she had been.

Several more of the dark garbed creatures dropped from the ceiling while others burst from the waters. Opening fire once more with her crossbow, Vanyra cut down five more of the verminous assassins with a well placed volley. Firing another shot which struck a gutter runner in the face, her crossbow began to click and her magazine was empty. Quickly reaching for one of her fire bombs, she flicked off the pin with her thumb and threw it forwards, the canister landed at the feet of one of the Gutter Runners who looked at the explosive with surprise.

The Gutter Runner began chattering with alarm to its comrades; it then picked up the canisters and was about to hurl it back before it detonated in a cloud of alchemical fire. The skaven assassins flailed wildly as the fires burned, their agonized shrieks filled the tunnels, some leapt into the water trying to douse the flames, little did they know that even in water the alchemical residue would continue to burn.

'Good throw lassie' Lugo said in amazement, he then gave her a smile and a rather nostalgic look 'Ye really are a lot like old Thori, course 'e didn't carry none o those fancy engineer bric-a-brac.'

'You think that's impressive manling? You should see what others things I got' she grinned with amusement. Carrying on ahead with more caution they eventually heard a loud baritone roar in the distance from a deep voice.

'What was that?' Lugo asked as he tightened the grip on his mace.

Hearing another roar, Vanyra focused her hearing on the sound was surprised to realize that it was a word "Khazuk". There was another dwarf down here in the sewers and it sounded as if he had found the ratkin.

'Come on manling! We have to go!' Vanyra said as she reloaded her crossbow and the man acquiesced as the two picked up their pace.

They sound of the roar was followed by the high-pitched squeaks of more skaven. The two of them raced on towards the source of the sound, there was a bell which began to ring and in the distance she saw several shapes with red eyes moving towards the sound. Raising her crossbow up, she fired four shots on the run, she killed three skaven with one falling into the canal.

A number of the skaven broke off and charged Vanyra and Lugo. To her surprise, Lugo ran past her despite the narrow space, the man roared the name of Ulric as he held his mace high. Swiftly bashing a skaven with his mace and splattering its brains all over him, he parried a sword thrust with his mace and gutted his attacker with his hooked hand. He then launched a right legged round house kick which knocked a skaven into the wall to their right, the man then parried another skaven's attack before squashing the head of the one he kicked into wall with his mace.

All of Vanyra's doubts about Lugo evaporated. Here was a man possessed with berserk fury, he was like one of those berserk warriors of the ancient Thuringinian Tribe in Kurgan Ironbeard's time, before Sigmar forged the Empire. The fat man howled like a wolf as he smashed and stabbed more of the ratkin in melee, the name of the Lord of Winter and Battle, Ulric was praised upon his lips.

Vanyra of course aided the man by carefully firing at the skaven whenever she had a clear shot. Her mind had quickly calculated the speed at which the man seemed to move and the speed of her own shots. While he had been wild and erratic, she noted a pattern to his style and used it to fire at the openings. The man did not seem to notice when a crossbow bolt flew past him and struck a skaven as he was lost in a berserk rage.

As the skaven were being pushed back by the furious assaults of Lugo and Vanyra, many of the ratmen tried to escape by jumping into the canal where the current would take them away. Of course this simple prompted her to shoot at the ones in the water and soon the filthy water was mixed with the blood of the ratmen. Eventually the two fought their way into a large chamber which was filled with wooden casks at the corners and skaven, both dead and living of whom the latter were fighting for their lives against another group.

At the other side of the chamber she saw the other dwarf accompanied by two humans of whom to her surprise were the two Bretonnians she had seen earlier entering Mandred's Glory. Their weapons were bloody as the knight held a bloody mace and shield while the other fellow, the rather attractive looking man of whom wore his green cloak over his head and a scarf over his lower jaw was wielding a short sword and hatchet which was stained with ratkin blood.

More notably though was the dwarf, he was a burly orange crested Slayer who wore a pair of dirty trousers with human skulls around his belt, he wielded a pair of axes which glowed with white runes which generated an aura of electricity, She quickly recognized the Slayer as of being Jurgen Olafson! He was the one who had informed her about Thori's passing.

Jurgen bellowed and roared as he charged a black cloaked skaven wielding a pair of glowing bright green blades. They moved with such blinding speed as their weapons clashed in a shower of sparks, Jurgen quickly head butted the skaven assassin wielding the magic daggers. The creature staggered back but quickly recovered in time to avoid a scissoring sweep from Jurgen which would have taken its head off.

'ULRIC!' shouted Lugo as he charged into the skaven ranks, the man had sported several cuts and wounds but it was as if he didn't even notice them.

Stowing her crossbow and pulling out her sword and wrench, she roared an oath to Grimnir and charged into the melee. Stabbing a skaven in the back and crushing the skull of another one, she deftly parried a spear with her sword before shattering its ribcage with her wrench.

Quickly grabbing a skaven by the back of its neck with the open mouth of her wrench, she thumbed the button to cause it clamp down and the skaven's neck and it was slowly being crushed. The skaven scrabbled for the back of its neck as its tail lashed around wildly. The tail slapped Vanyra painfully in the face, wincing but still maintaining her focus, she quickly cut the tail off at the base and the ratkin screamed in agony as blood gushed out from the severed appendage.

Quickly thrusting her sword into the side of its head, the skaven's screams were silenced and she released the body from her wrench's grip. Turning back to the fray, she smelled that disgusting sour smell skaven make when they are terrified, the creatures soon went into frenzy as they tried to escape the deadly quintet of men and dwarfs.

In the confusion, a skaven warrior who tried flee thrust its sword towards Vanyra. The blade screeched against the section of her chain mail which covered her left breast, had she not been wearing it, her heart could have been fatally pierced. With a backhanded swing, she caught the skaven in the side of its head but did not have time to finish it off as she was force to impale another one in the gut. Another skaven was charging towards her with a spear held high, it suddenly jerked and fell with its eyes rolling back as a hatchet stuck out from the back of its head.

She briefly saw the dark-skinned man give her wink before he ripped out one of his knives and he went back into the fight. The skaven with the two glowing blades attempted to flee from Jurgen, for a moment Vanyra thought the tattoos on Jurgen's body began to writhe and glow with a mystic light. The Slayer roared in outrage as the one he fought tried to flee, he then threw his axe forwards of which Vanyra noticed was attached to a length of chain.

The chained axe flew over the shoulders of the skaven with the glowing blades. Jurgen then pulled the chain and the axe quickly descended like a crossbow bolt and its electrical blade caught the skaven in its right shoulder. The skaven fell upon its back and began to flail and spasm as electricity coursed through its body, an ungodly stink began to emerge as it was slowly being cooked and its bowels were voided. Jurgen went towards the lead skaven and then stomped his left hobnailed boot over its head, crushing it like an overripe melon and splattering bits of blood, brain and bone everywhere.

As the last of the skaven either escaped or had been cut down by the five, a tense moment of silence passed as the two groups eyed each other for none had clearly expected to find allies down here. The Slayer tore his axe out from the dead skaven assassin; Vanyra noted that the chains were connected from the bottom of his axe to a pair of bronze bracelets she remembered not seeing him have before.

The Slayer turned to them and to her surprise she saw that all of his scars were gone, his skin was now fairer and his right eye which had been blind was now healed with a garnet hue like the other one. His beard was still done in a three braid style with a prominent moustache which now ended in a pair of gold bands. Recognition soon appeared on his bloody face

'Vanyra? Vanyra Skorrisdottir tha be ya?' he said disbelief while speaking in a heavily accented Reikspiel.

'I am surprised as much as you are!' Vanyra exclaimed in Reikspiel and the two dwarfs clasped each other upon the forearms above the wrists.

'You know this dwarf?' asked the surprised and muffled voice of the knight in an accented Reikspiel as he continued to survey the area for anymore skaven.

'Aye' nodded the Slayer as he looked up to the knight 'A friend o mine' he said with a grin.

'What inside these?' the other man said in a Reikspiel which was even more accented. Vanyra looked to the wooden casks; she saw warning signs on the casks in Reikspiel. In large red letters it said "black powder"

'Oh _krut_!' she hissed, explosives, and lots of it!

Looking around she was quickly relieved to find that none had lit fuses or fuses which were in danger of being lit. They heard loud pounding from the ceiling above and there was a sudden charge in the air which caused the back of the hairs on the necks of all of them to stand.

'By the Lady what was that?' the knight asked with alarm

'Sorcery' muttered Jurgen with disdain. He then pointed to the eastern section of the chamber of which was to the right of where Vanyra and Lugo had entered and the group saw that there was a hole behind two stacked barrels. 'I be bettin it be a wayz oop, we ough ta check it an see. One o oos nees ta stay dun ere an watch em barrels.'

'I will do it' Lugo tiredly said as he had been trying to catch his breath since the end of the fight. 'Gettin too old for this' the man said as he waved them to go ahead.

'Right! Le's be goin then!' shouted Jurgen as he and the Bretonnians began removing the casks.

* * *

Sniffing the fetid air and following the faint smell of warpstone, Khorieus made his way to an alley. He had drawn upon the magic of his cloak to conceal himself from the sight of others as he hunted; behind him was a path into another series of alleys which were well-lit and cleaner than a number of the other alleys. Ahead of him though across the alley, he could see a pair of street lamps and the back of a large opulent (at least by human standards) looking structure. He guessed by the look of the structures he had recently passed, he was in an area where wealthier humans had resided.

Surveying the area, he noted the smell began to lead up. He saw a number of windows, balconies and ledges on both the brick buildings which surrounded the alley he was in. Placing his feet upon the ledge of a metal barred window on the ground floor, he used it to leap to a stone balcony on the other side. When his hands latched on to the balcony, he pulled himself up swiftly and began the process of carefully scaling the two buildings.

It was just like the campaign he had fought alongside the Shadow Warriors in Anlec. _Druchii_ Corsairs and _Autarii_ had landed in the city searching for lost wealth and relics, the loyalists Nagarthyians did not take kindly to the presence of the Naggarothi. It had been a harsh yearlong campaign fought upon the rooftops and the ruined homes of elves long dead. He had been forced to learn to scale structures either with his bare hands or with the most minimal of tools, they had to coordinate and plan ambushes against a foe who were masters of ambushes. Although many Shadow Warriors died, the campaign ended with every _Druchii_ involved nailed to a twisted _liandrin_ tree, a number were not quite dead yet as they were left to bleed out and for the ravens to feast on.

With his hands finally reaching the top ledge, he quietly pulled himself up to the sloped tiled roof of an Imperial building. This would be a challenge he thought, carefully climbing up the slope as easily as a cat would, he slowly but meticulously made his way up. When he arrived he noted the smell of warpstone was now stronger. The sky brightened as the moon of Sariour now gazed down upon the world, looking about he caught the smell of the skaven he had been hunting it was close.

Quietly climbing to the top, of the roof where there was a narrow flat section. Khorieus eventually got to the ridge with his left arm tightly held over the other side, his white and yellow robes were now stained with filth. Looking around he saw a black-robed creature hunched over and looking to the opulent looking building across. The creature did not seem to notice him and it looked to be holding something, what it was though, the Chracian could not tell from his angle.

Reaching for his knife, he held the blade by the tip, with a few testing swings as he gauged the distance and the wind, he prayed to Kurnous and he threw the knife. His knife flew straight and true and it struck the skaven in the back, the skaven straightened up and shrieked in pain but did not fall, Khorieus used this time to get upon the flat ridge of the roof. As the skaven tried to pull out the knife, it heard and smelled Khorieus and it turned in time for the Chracian's knee strike its snout.

Before the creature could lose its balance and fall, Khorieus used his right arm to hoist the vile creature up by its filthy garments and he began to pummel it with his left fist. It squeeked in pain as the elf rained punches upon its chest, it quickly brought out a pistol to which Khorieus grabbed its wrist and twisted, breaking the bones and causing the gun to fall upon the steep slope and into the alley below. Khorieus then smashed its furry face into the tiled ridge multiple times, and causing a number of tiles to break.

Suppressing the urge to gut the vermin or snap its neck, he was a bit curious about what it was doing. Planting his right foot over the side of its head as it lay upon the ridge, he grabbed and twisted his knife before pulling it out, the skaven shrieked in pain once more and it went silent. He was not sure if it was dead or if was passed out, or faking it, just to be sure he punched the side of its furry head once more and was satisfied to hear nothing.

Looking to where it was crouched, he realized that it had been using some strange sort of rifle. While he himself had little experience in the use of firearms, for such things were of the makings of dwarfs, he has seen how destructive they could be. Studying the crude weapon for a bit, he noted the cylinder on top which resembled a looking-glass. He also noted the rifle which was pointing at the opulent looking structure across the street, was carefully mounted on a three-legged stand which reminded him of the Kislevite Streltsies. Curiously he also noted an hourglass in front of the gun's stand.

Placing his right eye into the back-end of the looking-glass while holding the rifle in the way he had seen human soldiers do so. He saw past a glass window in the building ahead, inside he could see a wide brightly lit ballroom where several humans in a mix of outrageously colorful or flamboyant designs dancing in a perfectly set series of columns. One particular human caught his eye, a pale skinned and red lipped human female with a lustrous black hair which was styled into several curls on the side.

She wore a purple gossamer dress with puffy sleeves, several bronze buttons which descended in a V pattern to dark gold belt. The woman wore several pieces of silver jewelry on her person with amethyst stones laid into it and what was most distinguishable, he could see the purple wind of _Shyish_ surrounding the woman. The woman he quickly recognized was Rosalind Amsel, a Battle Wizard Lady of the Amethyst College, what was she doing here he thought?

Rosalind danced with a paunchy bald-headed man in a black military uniform. He had white facial hair which covered the flesh between the nose and the lips and it extended down in an arch which reached the sides of his lower jaw. The two then stepped away from each other simultaneously from the other humans and as one the humans all gave each other a bow. Khorieus suddenly felt a rush of Aethyric energy from the building and he saw Rosalind look to something north of her, the humans around her soon turned their heads to the same direction.

He then heard a distant crack of a gun being discharged northwest of his position, a glass window from the side of the structure suddenly shattered. The Aethyric shield which surrounded Rosalind flared brightly enough that even the mortal eyes of the surrounding humans could see it. Swiftly raising the rifle from its tripod, Khorieus searched the area where he heard the sound emit.

After a few seconds he saw upon a rooftop a pair of humans struggling with one another. One of the humans soon fell and the one which remained was looking about frantically. The remaining human then carefully made its way to the edge of the ridge and it knelt down and picked up a long-barreled rifle, the human then slowly began making its way down the roof top it was on.

'What in Hoeth's name?' Khorieus whispered Eltharin with a bewildered tone.

Looking back to the building ahead of him, he saw the humans were still looking at something which caught their attention. He looked back down to Rosalind who was warily looking around, she then suddenly looked up directly towards him, he could see her eyes glowed with arcane light as she used her Spiritsight. Rosalind nodded towards him, and Khorieus lowered the rifle.

Looking back to the Skaven, who still lay there slumped on the ridge, he knew that whatever was going on, he was going to find out what it was.

* * *

'Ready everyone?' Jurgen Olafson said as he looked down to the two Bretonnians and Vanyra.

They were currently standing on a flight of wooden stairs which led into a wine cellar. With a collective word of acknowledgement, the Slayer grinned mischievously and he slammed his bulk into the wooden door ahead of them. From Vanyra Skorrisdottir's view behind the two Bretonnians, she saw a bright light ahead which blinded her for a moment.

She heard Jurgen bellow 'avin a partee withou oos? Na tha jus be rood, manlings!' he shouted with good humor.

'Oh who the hell are you!?' shouted a voice in an accented Reikspiel which sounded a bit like the way the Bretonnians sounded.

As the two Bretonnians ascended, Vanyra quickly followed with the green cloaked man in front of her. Emerging into a brightly lit hall of polished marble stone with a clear dwarf quality to it, Vanyra saw that ahead of them were several men in ragged patchworks of armor, there were a number of bleeding bodies as well in the hall. The men ahead of them wielded many cheap swords, cleavers, cudgels and various improvised weapons.

The Knight shouted something in Bretonnian at the men; none of them seemed to understand as they began to look to each other unsure with the leader, a well dressed looking man wearing a full set of chainmail armor and a tabard which depicted a white background and thee black symbols of what looked to be a tower. The man looked absolutely surprised at the knight; he then looked to his men and ordered them to attack the four as he raised a pistol at them.

'Koom an ge it manlings!' Jurgen shouted and he charged in with laughter as the knight dropped his mace and pulled out a sword which glowed with a cyan light.

The green cloaked man followed them with his bloody short sword and recovered hatchet, Vanyra as well charged into the fray with her sword and wrench which still dripped with skaven blood. Many of the humans were cut down by Jurgen's furious charge, the two Bretonnians fought as well with expert skill. She heard the discharge of a pistol strike against the knight of whom was briefly wreathed in white light, the knight still stood and he shouted something in Bretonnian.

Vanyra parried a downward chop from a cleaver wielding man and she smashed her wrench into the side of his left knee cap. As the man collapse she struck him in the face with the pommel of her sword before ducking under a cudgel sweep which would have struck her in the dead. Swiftly thrusting her wrench into the groin of the cudgel wielder who attacked her, the man shrieked loudly in pain as he grabbed his manhood.

Vanyra then slapped the man with the flat of her wrench and knocking him out. Although she would have no qualms in killing these humans who were trying to kill them, she was not sure how well the local law enforcers would take it if she went about killing humans, even if it was in self-defense. Vanyra felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand again; she looked to see that among the men they fought there was the sorcerer who had begun casting a spell.

The sorcerer was a bald pale skinned azure robed man with a cloak of black feathers and at a closer look was completely hairless. The man's eyes glowed with multicolored light as he raised a dark wooden staff with a dead crow tied to it. Rushing towards the man who was casting a spell, she was too late and a bolt of azure fire burst from his staff, the fire bolt struck Jurgen who roared in pain.

To the sorcerer's surprise, Jurgen did not collapse but instead he fixed the sorcerer a baleful look as his tattoos glowed brightly. The sorcerer then began another spell, Vanyra was now upon him and she roared Grimnir's name. Swiftly thrusting her sword into the wizard's chest, the tip of the blade clanged off in a flash of azure light as if she had struck an opponent wearing heavy plate armor. The sorcerer looked at her and he pointed his left hand which to Vanyra's surprise looked like a raven's talon.

The taloned hand glowed with azure light and several bolts of purple energy struck his magic barrier on his left, the bolts sent an unnatural chill into Vanyra's veins as the sorcerer was staggered by the attack. The sorcerer looked to direction of the bolts and was struck by more dark purple bolts, Vanyra heard the man begin chanting foul words which were painful for her ears to hear.

Jurgen was quickly upon the sorcerer, his lightning axes savagely smashing against the sorcerer's barrier which began to flicker. More dark purple bolts began striking the sorcerer; his barrier began to weaken as terror began to etch upon his face. Taking the initiative, Vanyra leapt forwards with her wrench held high and she roared Grimnir's name.

Vanyra's wrench dug deeply into the front of the sorcerer's skull. She heard a sickening crunch as the wrench shattered through his skull and jellied his brain and his eyes rolled up. She had just killed her first human, just like killing a _grobi_ she thought. As the dead sorcerer fell upon his back the bloodied marble floor, she saw that several of the ragged humans try to escape; many were cut down by Jurgen who gave chase while shouting insults in _Khazalid_ at them. The two Bretonnians briefly gave chase before moving back to secure the area.

The lead man, the one who was speaking in a Bretonnian accent now lay upon the marble floor, injured, but alive. Hearing a series of footsteps coming towards them, Vanyra looked to see several garishly dressed humans wearing all sorts of jewelry approach them. The men were at the least standing protectively in front of the women, a number of them held weapons, but most looked like they did not know how to use it.

Ahead of the group of humans came a bald-headed paunchy older human man with a white mutton-chop beard in a black but almost grey doublet and trousers with several gold medals over his left breast. The man carried a sword of an ancient Tilean design called a gladius in his right hand; it glowed with a soft white light. Beside the man was a purple dressed woman with black hair, pale skin and she was wearing a dazzling array of silver and amethyst jewelry. The woman's eyes briefly glowed with a purple light as an unnatural aura of cold surrounded her, another mage Vanyra quickly realized with trepidation as the purple light faded from the mage to reveal grey eyes.

'It seems we have you brave adventurers to thank for this evening' the paunchy black clothed man said in an accented Reikspiel which sounded what Vanyra thought was Tilean. 'Isn't that right?' the man said as he looked back to the men and women behind him and after a moment they began clapping and cheering for them.

'We have another member downstairs beneath the cellar, you won't like what's down there' Vanyra said as she raised her right hand.

'We should have a look then' the paunchy man said 'Lorenzo, Einhardt with me' the man ordered and from the crowd came two men. The two men had the looks of men used to the hardened life of mercenaries; they gave a sharp salute to the paunchy man who looked back to Vanyra.

'Would you care to lead us _Signora_?' the man asked with a slight bow.

With a nod, Vanyra turned back to the cellar door, she wondered, was ther some sort of connection with the humans they had fought and the Skaven bellow? It was possible, for she had read that there were humans who collaborated with the ratkin. A deep feeling of unease towards the _Umgi_ began to well up within her as she led the men down to the cellar.

* * *

Kneeling down to pick up the now broken pistol which had fallen from the roof, Khorieus was forced to tear off a bit of cloth from the sleeves of his robes for he could smell the foul warpstone which was was loaded within the weapon. Looking back to his "prisoner" which to his surprise was still alive from the thrashing he gave it, the skaven had on its person a long length of rope and a metallic claw which looked to be a grappling hook.

He had used the grappling hook to descend from the rooftop with skaven firmly between the crook of his left arm and his torso. As he descended, he was worried that it may awaken and try to bite or claw him, he did check it for any concealed weapons, but one never knew with these things. Afterwards he had cut some of the rope and used it to bind the Skaven.

Standing up know with what he believed were all of the rat thing's belongings, he knew that next he should investigate the building where he had seen Rosalind. He felt the furious exchange of Aethyric Winds within the building which quickly subsided, looking back to the Skaven, he supposed that he should drag it with him.

As he was about to make his way, he a faint shift in the Winds, it was the familiarly cold and refined weave of the Amethyst Wizard. Looking to the end of the alleyway which was now darkened by the shadow of Rosalind Amsel, Khorieus was relieved that at least he would not have to carry the foul thing any longer, for among the uses of the Lore of Death was the ability gather information from the dead.

'Fraulein Amsel, a pleasure to see you again' Khorieus said with a smile and a formal bow.

He had grown to respect the Lady Wizard during their previous battle against the remnants of the Beastmen army which had retreated from Nordland and Middenland to _Loren Lacoi_, or the Great Forest as the Imperials put it. They had also fought alongside each other on more occasions against beastmen, greenskins and human outlaws on the way to Altdorf.

'And to you as well, Herr Alatanrieth' the Battle Wizard Lady said in her whispery tone as she gave him a formal bow as well. 'I see that you have been busy this night?' she continued as she looked to the Skaven behind him.

'Not as busy as you have been I see' the elf said with a faint smile.

He then suddenly felt another shift in the Winds behind him, it was different now, one which had been very faint as if a great distance way and yet he knew that it was only a few feet away from him. He looked back to see a wizened old human male with well-groomed hair which was combed back, his beard as well had been neatly trimmed and he wore a grey velvet garments made in a style used by the human nobility. The very shadows around the man seemed to writhe with a life of his own, a Grey Wizard, Khorieus realized, a practitioner of the Wind of Ulgu, the Lore of Shadows.

The Grey Wizard appeared behind the skaven, he glanced at it before looking back to Khorieus and giving a formal bow as Rosalind had

'I thank for your unexpected assistance Herr Alatanrieth' the old man said in a very cultured voice.

At a closer look, Khorieus could see that the old human's eyes were grey and they swirled with a shadowy darkness which danced around it 'I am sure you are curious about tonight's events'.

'That would be an understatement' Khorieus nodded with a reply. For many centuries, the Chracian has had many experiences dealing with mages and their ilk, he had grown quite used to their eccentricities and habits.

'Fraulein Amsel had told me about you, Mein herr.' The Grey Wizard said 'Although I cannot force you, I believe that you can be a valuable asset in aiding us with a "delicate" situation, one of which I can assure you will lead to many great battles'. The Grey Wizard's words piqued Khorieus interest, and here he thought Altdorf would get boring.

'Then by all means' Khorieus said with a smile 'I am sure I can provide whatever assistance I can, to the allies of Ulthuan, herr?'

'Stefan von Wurtbad' the Grey Wizard introduced himself with another formal bow, he then smiled and said 'I was confident that you would be interested' continued the Grey Wizard 'Just hold still for a moment'.

The Grey Wizard then began whispering words of power, the Wind of Ulgu began to engulf the alley, the lights from the nearby candles the street lamps as well as the candles within the nearby buildings began to flicker as they nearly went out. After a moment, the lights began to burn normally, and from within the alley, there was nothing left but dust and masonry.

* * *

Glossary: (Khazalid)

Ruebatuki - Dwarfs who have immigrated and fully embraced Human culture

Karaz Ankor - The name of the Dwarf Empire

Umgi - Human or maker of shoddy things

Elgi - Elves or weakling

Drakk- Dragons

Grombolgi - Halflings

Ogri- Ogres

Grobi - Goblins

Urk - Orcs

Krut - a disease contracted from goat with some unfortunate implications on the how it is contracted

Thrund - firearms

Grogg - cheap, poor quality ale

Wanaz - a very unkempt and filthy dwarf

Dammaz - Grudges

Kron - Book

Khazuk - death, can be used a battle cry

Karaz-a-karak - capital of the dwarf empire, The Enduring Mountain.

(Eltharin)

Sariour - Word for the moon or magic, evil deeds or natural disasters

Asur - The high elves themselves

Druchii - The dark elves

Autarii - Cannibalistic and savage dark elf clans which serve as scouts and skirmishers for the dark elf armies. Also known as Shades.

(Kislevarin)

Winter Visitor - something that is unbelievable, or something that is unwelcome

Do Widzenia - Good bye or die well

Blyad- a woman of low morals


	2. A Night Out II

**Author's Note: Originally, this chapter had a Vampire Counts part which I will be separating to another story.**

* * *

Passing by a wide hall of polished white stone, I could not help but gaze in awe towards the majestic architecture around me. Built with a Tilean style, The Cathedral of Our Blessed Lady was quite the sight to behold. Stained glass windows depicting the deeds of saints and martyrs filled the sides of the hall, the sturdy Birchwood pews were just as clean and shiny, and each one bore a bronze plaque with a written prayer in either Estalian or Tilean. Upon the high ceilings, I could see the beautiful murals depicting Myrmidia during her mortal years in the south as she fought the Twelve Great Battles, which marked her divinity, much as how Blackfire was to Sigmar.

The devoted to Myrmidia reflected well with my surroundings. Several Flights of blue and white-robed initiates from the Order of the Eagle attended to their duties within the cathedral. Maintaining the vigil and security of the Cathedral were the Templars of the Order of the Righteous Spear. The Templars stood a silent vigil in their shining suites of plate mail and tabards of white which depicted the shield and spear of our Lady, it was fitting really that each of them carried the same.

There were also a few of my new brethren, Squires to Knights of the Blazing Sun of whom were paying their obeisance to the goddess. While my father back in Bechafen (of whom was a devout Ulrican) did not exactly approve of my new association with the Templars of Myrmidia, joining them was a good way to really stick it to the old bastard. Offering the sign of Myrmidia to the lads who would one day become my future Battle Brothers, they returned the gesture with more than a few giving me a sly look.

It was rather awkward and embarrassing really; the other Squires were assigned to the full-fledged or senior Knights of the Order. I on the other hand was assigned to Ser "Luca" Herman, or more appropriately, Frau Lucia Herman. It was strange and difficult at first to be serving under and taking orders from a foreign woman of whom to my great surprise was not even a noble. Over the months though, I have grown to greatly respect and even admire the Lady Templar, for her skill in arms and patience have made her a most excellent of mentors.

Of course, the other lads would tease that I am either a bit too smitten with the lady to object taking orders from a foreign woman… which I admit may have a grain of truth to it. Or that I am just trying to get in her trousers, which may also be… oh wait no that's not right, I shouldn't be thinking about that sort of thing towards a superior. More than a few of them have even been pestering me to "misplace" some of Frau Herman's unmentionables to which of course I have refused to accept.

Passing by my fellow squires, I made it towards the elegant double doors, I wondered to myself, well what now? Frau Herman had left on some errand and said that I could take the night off. It's not like I really knew what was around Altdorf, considering that for the past three days I have been stuck going between the Cathedral or the chapter house and either praying or training. I suppose I could go the so-called Street of a Hundred Taverns, I heard there are a lot of interesting things to be found there.

With a shrug I thought, oh why not anyway? It's not like I am doing anything else, might as well go out for a drink and see the Imperial Capital, the former home of Sigmar Heldenhammer himself.

* * *

Rainier held up his short sword and nodded with satisfaction as he saw the polished gleam across its edge. Its straight silvery form reflected the light from the lamp next to him. The short sword had served him well for many years; he had used it to slay many beastmen, greenskins, mutants, outlaws and even the restless dead of Mousillon. Setting the short sword in its sheath and laying it upon the wooden table by the window which offered a good view upon the buildings outside, he looked to Abelard of whom was seated upon one of the two beds as he readied his own equipment.

The two Bretonnians were currently within their room at an Imperial inn which Abelard had translated for Rainier as Dead Sleep inn or something like that, it seemed there was a Temple of Morr nearby so the name seemed fitting. As Abelard set down his blessed longsword and began making some last-minute adjustments to his armor, Rainier made sure to check upon his current store of arrows. It was going to be a busy night for the two of them, and they needed to be sure that they would be ready.

A few months earlier, they had arrived in the Empire and had gotten themselves involved in some bloody business regarding the skaven. While the two men had gone about putting the wretched things to the sword and burning down their warrens, it seemed that the creatures they had fought were receiving orders from here in Altdorf, at least according to a now deceased ratman prisoner who had spoken some Reikspiel. For three days now they had been in this city and trying to search for any signs of ratmen activity, when Abelard had asked about said ratmen, the Imperials had thought them either drunks, weirdroot addicts or ignorant foreigners.

Fortunately in the last day, they had met some of the local Rat Catchers who had informed them of some rats of unusual size being seen under the docks. They were informed of a tavern called Mandred's Glory where many of the local Rat Catchers as well as Sewerjacks often frequented. It was probably the best place for the two men to start hunting for there was supposed to be a nearby entrance to the sewers.

Not that the two Bretonnians were actually eager to go wading through all the filth and shit, Rainier honestly has had enough of that for a lifetime, especially after that time they had hunted for a Stromfels cult in L'anguile. As Rainier finished counting the number of arrows he had in his quiver, he was hopeful that he had enough ammunition for tonight. Walking towards the cloak hanger which stood by the door, Rainier grabbed his forest green cloak and he wrapped it around his shoulders.

He saw Abelard rise up as he had finished putting on his gear, the knight gave Rainier a quiet nod and Rainier nodded back. Rainier then went back towards the table where he laid down his sword; he tied the sheath to his belt and picked up his hatchet and daggers. Among his equipment, he had also purchased a brace of throwing knives which could be useful for an emergency.

With Rainier's gear all set, he looked to Abelard who now carried his blessed long sword by his left hip, a mace upon the right. Abelard's shield which was placed upon his back depicted the snarling boar of their home dukedom of Artois. The two men had been through many adventures together, from the beast infested Forests of Arden to the orc infested mountains of the Masiff Orcall.

'Ready, brother?' asked Abelard as he looked back to Rainier with his helm held in the crook of his left arm.

'Let's go hunt some rats' nodded Rainier grimly and the two men left their room for a night out at town.

* * *

Assailed by the fetid smell of the city, the stranger looked up to see the skyline where crude buildings rose even taller than the trees of the forest. Clad in robes of light green with a golden trim, the stranger's features were concealed by a hooded cloak; upon the stranger's back was a staff of white wood with a green jewel upon the staff head. The stranger walked with head cast down so as to avoid any unwanted attention from the locals.

Despite the crude and slapdash nature of the many structures and the atrocious smell of rotting garbage and bodily waste, there was energy here in Altdorf. One which not even all of the clans of the stranger's people could ever hope to fill. Quietly walking across the filthy streets, the stranger passed by a group of children running bare foot as they played and laughed, there were men pushing carts bearing all sorts of goods, state soldiers going about on their patrols, and even entertainers putting on all kinds of shows.

The sight of this all, of seeing how the race of men had thrived so much while the stranger's own kin slowly passed from the world, filled Sariel Moonstone with a sense of melancholy. For months now, she had been gone from her home of Laurelon, she had always dreamed of seeing what lay beyond the forest of her home and to witness what the world had to offer. What the wood elf mage truly wanted though was to go to the land of her ancestors, the birthplace of the Children of Isha, Ulthuan.

Her eyes had been opened by a wandering warrior of their distant kin. Through the warrior's words, Sariel had realized that her people's isolation had blinded them to the many threats which would befall her people should Ulthuan or the nations of men fall. Knowing the tale of the Dragontamer and the mages who sacrificed themselves to ensure the world did not fall to Chaos, she knew the tale of how it was their kin of distant Ulthuan taught the humans how to responsibly wield the Winds and had on many occasions fought to preserve their nations and the stability of the world itself. All while her people closed themselves off.

Now within Altdorf, the heart of the human Empire, Sariel Moonstone desired to find the embassy of Ulthuan. She hoped that she could find a mage or at the least an ambassador of whom she could impress well enough with her magic. She had heard of stories how a few amongst her kin were capable of convincing the _Asur_ enough to be allowed towards the fabled White Tower of Hoeth.

Having used her spiritsight earlier to scry into the city, she had found the location of the embassy. Now Sariel quietly made her way, she tried not to draw too much attention to herself for the race of men, in their ignorance often became hostile towards the wielders of the arcane arts. As her feet which were clad in soft leather boots walked across the stone road, she could not help feel a mix of disdain towards the crudeness of men, and yet be amazed at the vibrancy of their short lives.

Sariel noted how the humans who noticed her seemed to be keeping their distance from her and heard the mutterings in their crude guttural tongue and saying _hexe_. Quietly moving on, she hoped that she could avoid any sort of trouble tonight with the humans and their disdain with magic. It would not exactly be a good first impression to her kin if she was forced to shock her way passed several humans.

* * *

Walking towards the so-called Street of a Hundred Taverns, Abelard cautiously eyed the crowds of men and women they passed by. Some were simple peasant folk going out for the night, some were armed mercenaries who swaggered and caroused as the local guardsmen eyed said mercenaries warily. There were shady and thuggish looking men by the alleys likely looking for a good mark; Abelard had even seen a few sorcerers of whom both he and Rainier stayed a fair distance away from.

Some of the Imperials eyed them with suspicion for the relation between both Bretonnia and the Empire was… cool at best. No doubt some of the Imperials would think of him as some sort of foreign spy or saboteur. Well let them think what they wished thought Abelard, if the fools thought to give both men any trouble then Abelard would be happy to oblige in knocking some sense into them with the business end of his mace.

At the least, not all of the Imperials were giving them hostile looks. There were beggars clamoring around them and asking for alms, peddlers trying to sell them "holy" artifacts which would protect them in battle. To his amusement, a few women were giving the two men coy looks as they passed with few of the less reputable of women were trying to entice them with butchered words in Breton while scandalously lifting their dresses a little to reveal their ankles. Of course with the last ones, Abelard had to pull Rainier away for the two men agreed to be tight on their spending after being forced to pay a number of outrageous taxes to get around the city.

The Bretonnian knight had to admit that the city of Altdorf was not quite what he had expected. Originally, he had expected to find the Imperials to be a bunch of intolerant religious fanatics with people being burned at the stake around every corner. And yet to see so many people from different professions, nations and even races all at once was quite a surprise to him. He saw some Halflings selling pies from carts, ogre mercenaries who sat around a large stone table and gorging themselves. He had seen dwarfs clad in a mixture of Imperial clothes or in armor of dwarfish design and going about their business along with humans of the Empire, Kislev, Araby, Tilea, Estalia and even a few fellow Bretonnians.

In the years since he had taken up The Quest, Abelard had seen much of his homeland. From the beast haunted forests of Arden to the Fey-touched forest of Parravon, from the coasts of Lyonnesse to the Pale Sisters mountains. He had participated in jousting tournaments in Bastonne, fought undead at Mousillon, and raced horses in the Lion Ring of Couronne. And yet to simply see so many different foreigners and races here in the capital of the Empire, Abelard grudgingly had to admit that if there was one thing the Empire was truly superior in, it was their ability to attract the crowd.

While he was no merchant, Abelard understood the power and wealth which could be brought into a nation through trade as well as the ideas and goods which came with trade. For example, when he had been in Couronne a few years earlier, he had met a merchant from Marienburg who had been selling all sorts of exotic goods. Among the merchant's wares, Abelard had seen Talwars from Ind, massive Cathayan swords which according to the merchant were used to bring down horsemen, dwarf axes and even an elegant spear of a fey design. The Bretonnian Knight had even seen some of these foreign weapons in use and had been amazed to see a mercenary from Ind wield a pair of exotic whip-like swords against orcs.

Despite the way of chivalry and sword being well and good, there were times that even Abelard felt that his homeland was lagging behind the world. Before becoming a Questing Knight, Abelard had traveled around a bit during his Errantry years. He had seen the marvelous clockwork machines of Miragliano in Tilea, he had once seen the iron behemoths of the dwarf navy and just the previous day, he had seen the monstrosity of one of the Empire's so call Steam Tanks.

As a knight of Bretonnia and a devout follower of the Lady, Abelard had little fear of firearms and gunpowder weapons. The problem though, was that he understood just how effective such weapons could be. Against fortifications in sieges, naval warfare or against the common foot troops of his homeland, such weapons would be highly devastating. While it was fortunate that no great war between Bretonnia and the Empire seemed to be looming on the horizon, it worried Abelard about how such a conflict would fare for his homeland.

Shaking his head of such thoughts and chastising himself for allowing his mind to wander, Abelard had to remind himself that Men were not the true enemy. The true enemies were the savage hordes of greenskins, the followers of Chaos, the loathsome ratmen and the restless dead. Men could be made to see reason and be dealt with through diplomacy. As a Questing Knight, he should be bringing his wrath upon the true enemy, not just of Bretonnia's but to all mankind.

* * *

Walking down one of the crowded streets, Sariel gently made her way past the crowds of humans around her. For the first time in her life, she had seen members of other races, from Halflings to ogres and dwarfs, although to be fair she would have been happier not to see the rock eaters. Among the many different humans, one who stood out was a red-haired human male clad in very little clothing with skin tattooed with swirling blue patterns and yet he radiated with arcane power.

Sariel had little time to ponder upon this strange human for the path ahead of her was soon blocked by a tightly packed crowd of humans and the crude sounds of a human song was being played, Sariel's eyes were quickly caught by what the humans were gazing upon. In front of the crowd was a large carriage with a red robed priest shouting prayers to the human god Sigmar. Behind the human priest, there was a massive statue of a griffon carrying a large hammer in its claws, interestingly, the carriage with the statue radiated with magic.

The crowd of humans looked upon the carriage reverently and they loudly recited prayers to their god. Behind the carriage, there were several human soldiers marching with weapons at the ready along with musicians playing their instruments, it was likely that this was some sort of military parade. Most intriguingly though she saw several human knights riding across the road with lances pointing towards the sky. What intrigued her about these knights was that aside from the armored Destriers, some of the knights actually rode upon wingless griffons which proudly strode along with the horses and the soldiers.

As Sariel watched the parade, she did not notice the human boy who was sitting upon his father's shoulders. The boy curiously looked at the mage and reached over towards Sariel's hood. The next thing the Wood Elf mage knew, her hood was pulled back and her head was fully exposed to the night air.

The child had a cheery look as he saw Sariel and began babble something in the human language in excitement. The child then called to his father and the man looked to her in surprise, his eyes widened and he whispered with surprise '_elfe' _he said. Quickly pulling her hood over her head again, Sariel turned away and decided to perhaps try to find another way around the group. She looked back to see the man pointing at her and he began to babble something in his crude speech, well time to go, the wood elf thought.

* * *

Inside my rather bare quarters within the local chapter house, I knelt down to open the small wooden chest which lay at the foot of my bed. Inside the container were some spare clothes, a light mail shirt, a tabard of the Order, as well as my sheathed sword and holstered pistol. Considering the kind of luck I seem to get from Ranald on nights like this, I decided to wear the chain shirt with the tabard of the Blazing Sun over it.

When I had finished taking off my squire's attire and put on the armor, I found that at the least, it was lighter compared to the breastplate I would wear from my time as a Pistolier. After putting on the tabard of my newfound Order, I decided to bring my sword and pistol as well for even I have heard how Altdorf's streets could be filled with gangs of thieves. Checking if my pistol was loaded, I found that it was not and set the pistol on the bed before kneeling down again to get my pouch of bullets and powder.

Picking up the two small pouches, I rose up and went to the side of the bed. Sitting down upon the soft mattress, I set both pouches by the pistol and I began to process of loading the gun. Carefully pouring a bit of black powder into the barrel, I then placed a lead ball into the barrel and I used the ramming stick to make sure everything was packed in. After everything was set, I walked towards the door leading out of the chapter house.

When I emerged into the cold night air of Altdorf, I quietly began making my way towards the docks where the Street of a Hundred Taverns should be. To see the Imperial capital, the original home of Sigmar himself as the stories went was something quite extraordinary. While I hailed from Bechafen back at the Ostermark, I had to admit that Altdorf was more amazing than I had thought. Why just yesterday I had seen both the Emperor's personal Griffon and Dragon in flight over the city and yet the local folk did not actually break out in panic, because I certainly almost wanted to.

As I made my way down one of the streets, I noticed the sound of a band playing where a large crowd congregated around one of the streets. Looking to see what the commotion was, I could not get a good view due to the many folk in front of me, yet my eyes widened to see what it was the crowd was looking at. A War Altar of Sigmar! I muttered in stunned reverence. Upon the Altar, there was a warrior priest reciting prayers to Sigmar, his words were followed by the crowd who responded to his catechism. Behind the altar, I could see the top sections of great swords, halberds and spears, along with these weapons I heard the sounds of trumpets and drums playing, there must have been a military parade going on.

My eyes soon fell upon a sight as glorious as the War Altar. Riding in shining armor with lances at the ready, I saw the knights of the Reiksguard. Each of the Reiksguard knights, the personal guard of the Emperor himself proudly rode upon their Destriers, behind them I was awed to see the several more knights from other Knightly Orders, each one dedicated to Sigmar himself judging by their paraphernalia. But among them, I saw the Knights of the Vengeful Sun; each was distinguishable thanks to their Demigryph mounts which rode amongst the streets as disciplined as a warhorse.

As I watched the parade go on, I felt a hand over my left shoulder. Looking to my left, I saw a man with a young boy over his shoulders, my right hand instinctively reaching for my pistol and I saw the man's eyes widened and he backed off with his hands up in the air.

'S-sorry there milord' the man said nervously, his son did not seem worried and the boy even looked in awe at the sight of my sword and pistol.

'Its fine, no harm done' I said. The man was probably a few years older than I was, but to have a child that big on his shoulders, he must have had the kid around the time I was still in training to become a Pistolier. I briefly thought about some of the… ladies I have had the pleasure of having to pay for the services of and oh sweet Rhya I hope I don't have a few bastards out there.

'Sorry again milord' apologized the man 'but did you see that elf back there?'

'An elf?' I asked quite curiously for I had never seen one of the Fair-folk before, my uncle who was once a member of the Greatswords spoke well of them though. I have seen dwarfs and fought alongside them once, nice guns they have too. My father had employed Halfling cook who could bake some really good pies, I had once even fought against Ogre mercenaries during my time as a Pistolier. Thank Sigmar that the dumb bastards couldn't catch up with me when I was on Bern.

'Aye milord' the man said 'one of them fey folk was just there behind you, a lady I think it was'

'Really?' I asked with curiosity for I heard that in Altdorf, emissaries of the Fair-folk were supposed to be common. A few memories soon came to my mind, specifically those of some rather raunchy pfennig-dreadfuls regarding dashing heroes who saved elf maidens and were bequeathed with carnal rewards. Of course those were just the kind of stories to pass the time and only one of those inbred Bretonnians would really buy into, but still though, what a reward that would be.

Shaking my head of such thoughts, I guess I have had too much of a dry spell. 'So where did this elf go?' I asked

'Down that way milord' the man said as he pointed down an alley behind me and his son followed by pointing his finger too.

* * *

After seeing the world with her Spiritsight once more, Sariel realized that she had gone a bit off course from the path to the embassy. She honestly found the architecture and placement of the structures within the human city to be confusing, it was as if she had been walking within a labyrinth. With a soft frustrated sigh, she decided to double back and perhaps try another direction.

Making her way through the narrow streets, Sariel heard the splatter of something liquid and she smelled something horrible from it. With deep disgust, Sariel realized it was hideous mix of human waste, disgusting _kegh'mon_ she thought. Praying to Lileath that she did not get hit by a downpour of filth, she wondered how the kin of Ulthuan could even put up with the barbarians.

Moving on ahead, Sariel soon came out to an open street where multiple humans and even folk of other races were showing various displays of public drunkenness. With another bout of contempt towards the barbarians, such a display would be considered highly shameful by her kin back in Laurelon. Looking about and trying to get her bearings, Sariel sighed with frustration again for she had no idea where she was now.

Moving to the entrance of the alley where she had emerged from, Sariel had laid her back to the wall under a lantern and began to use her Spiritsight once more. Feeling the familiar sense of displacement as her spirit left her body, Sariel soared high upon the Aethyric Winds and soon she saw the city of Altdorf with a sight she had imagined that only the gods could see. She could see the flows of the Winds around the human Colleges of Magic; these were of little interest to the wood elf for she doubted that the humans could possibly teach her anything about magic.

Below her, she could see the dim spiritfires of the countless humans. They were like weak candles in the distance, and yet here and there she could see the brighter fires of those with a talent for the arcane. With foreboding, she also saw again, more than a few spirit-fires which were tainted by dark magic, she wondered if she should do something about it but decided that perhaps now would not be the best of times. She quickly then picked out the familiar and bright spiritfires of her kin, interestingly, there was one which was actually quite close to her current position.

Taking a closer look at the spirit-fire of the other elf closest to her, Sariel was soon surprised for she recognized the elf. It was the wanderer, the Chracian warrior who had opened her eyes to the world. Quickly deciding to find Lord Alatanrieth, she quickly smelled the stench of cheap human ale and she heard the deep voices of several men around her.

Quickly returning to her body, Sariel looked upon the world with her mortal sight. Around her, she saw a group of six young human males surrounding her with a four more older and more grizzled looking ones to her right. While Sariel's knowledge in Reikspiel was not exactly superb, she could tell by the looks in the eyes of the humans and the tones in their voices that they were making very crude and likely vulgar attempts at trying to flirt with her. Speaking to them with disdain in Eltharin, she told them to leave her be.

The humans of course did not understand her words but she guessed by their expressions that they understood her intent of not being interested. She could see how the humans were leering at her and she could see the lust in their eyes. Rolling her eyes at the distraction and hardly intimidated for even the tallest of them reached only up to her chest, she began preparing to send a mild jolt of lightning at the humans to scare them off. As soon as she began channeling a small bit of _Azyr_ she heard the voice of another human male in the distance to her left.

Looking down the alley where the voice came, the humans around her looked as well in that direction. With her night vision having already set in, Sariel saw that it was indeed another young human male and clad in a tabard depicting a crude symbol of the sun with a face on it. The humans around her seemed to be arguing with the newcomer. Preparing the spell again, Sariel honestly did not have time for such foolishness.

* * *

'Hey leave her alone!' I shouted at the gang of men surrounding the hooded woman.

From the lights ahead as well as the lantern above the hooded woman, I could see that the fellows ahead of me were either nobles or wealthy merchant sons. Judging by their faces as well, I could see that most of them were probably around my age or a bit older.

'Well what this we got here lads?' said one of the older and taller fellows who wore a green velvet outfit with a cultured voice. 'Some stable boy for a knight?' he said mockingly and his friends laughed. I could see that many of them carried swords and on the side of the alley, I could see a few armored bodyguards at the end of the alley.

With a hint of annoyance, I could already tell this one's type. A bunch of "noble" born fops and bullies who prided themselves with their fancy academics and education were common in the southern provinces. Up in the Ostermark or any of the northern provinces, such sons who haven't even earned their spurs would be considered shameful. Swiftly pulling out my pistol which was loaded, I pointed it at the leader of the bully boys and I saw their bluster quickly drain away.

'Now let's all leave here peacefully and no one gets a bullet to their tender parts! Got it!?' I shouted confidently.

The lead boy looked to his fellows and he saw that they too had lost their nerve, no surprise really when someone is pointing a gun at your face. The lead boy tried to look tough again; he straightened up and squared his shoulders before spitting upon the ground. He then ordered his fellows to go and more than a few of them left eagerly. I wouldn't be surprised if they decide to rough up some poor bastard tonight.

As the bully boys and their guards left, I noted that the tall woman with the green hooded cloak was still there. Rather sure that this was the elf woman who the peasant spotted earlier, I holstered my pistol and tried to not be as intimidating as possible. The woman regarded me curiously with a slight tilt of her head, under her hood I could only see a delicate and slightly pointed chin.

'H-hello there' I said trying to sound confident but stuttering a bit. Oh nice way to make a first impression I scolded to myself. The elf woman remained silent as she regarded me, I noted that she carried a staff upon her back and my eyes widened with surprise as I quickly realized that she must have been a mage. Oh gods was she reading my mind!? I thought as I quickly banished all ideas of trying to get my "spear polished" tonight as I began to sweat nervously.

The elf woman then began to speak in a melodious, song-like language I could not understand. Not quite sure if she was casting a spell or something, I kind of wished I had not holstered my pistol. When nothing happened and I found that I had not been turned into a toad or reduced into a pile of ashes, I was quickly relieved.

'Where… embassy… Ulthuan' said the elf woman quite slowly in a thickly accented Reikspiel.

'You… you want to go to the elf embassy?' I asked, it seemed like a weird question, she should know? Right? The elf woman gently nodded after considering my words for a moment.

'I… I guess I can help' I said with uncertainty. Carefully walking up to the elf woman I realized that she was actually a good bit taller than I am. I slowly raised my left hand towards the woman in a gesture of greeting. She then regarded the gesture strangely before raising her delicate right hand and I gently grasped it for a handshake. I could see the woman's lips curl slightly in disdain; I guess elves aren't big on hand shakes.

'Gustav' I said as I introduced myself 'Gustav Braun'. A moment of silence passed as the elf woman considered my words

'_Sariel Sa'Daroian inalaeith Linas'Saraes Si'Hrenithas lo Laurelon'_ she said. Having understood absolutely nothing of what she had said, the elf woman softly grunted and just said '_Sariel_'.

'Pleased to meet you ma'am' I said nervously and wanting to curse myself for trying to be a hero. The woman nodded and I gently led her by hand down the Street of a Hundred Taverns and towards where I hoped I could get some direction to the elf embassy.

* * *

Walking down the Street of a Hundred Taverns, Rainier had to admit that the name of the street was rather appropriate. Seeing so many different establishments around, he hoped that if they survived this night, he could go out and try a few a few of these places afterwards. Already having asked for directions from one of the local guardsmen, the two Bretonnians were on their way to the Mandred's Glory.

On the way, they passed by a tavern which had a Tilean name where they saw several men clad kislevite attires running out with more than a few dragging some fellows out. Wondering what that was about, they allowed the kislevites to pass by who gave the Bretonnians no trouble. To their surprise, they even spotted in the distance one of the Fey talking to a scarred woman in a leather coat. The two of them parted ways and the Fey went off in the direction opposite to the two Bretonnians.

'You don't see that everyday' Rainier quietly said in Breton 'I wonder what that was about'. With a shrug from Abelard the two men resumed their way to the tavern.

Taking a turn down one road, they noticed a number of men coming in with small dogs by them and carrying rat cages. For a brief moment, Rainier was reminded of an ungrateful mongrel of a Truffle Hound he once had back in Bretonnia. He was glad to have heeded the warning about wearing a spiked solid steel codpiece at the time.

'You think this is where we can find some help?' Rainier asked

'It's our best lead' Abelard replied with a tone that was not too sure as well.

'So… what do you think of the Empire so far?' Rainier asked while curious about Abelard's opinion.

'Hmph, the Imperials build things too large if you ask me, as if they are trying to make up for the lack of something' Abelard replied with disdain 'How anyone needs to drag about a giant altar like that of have need of so many firearms is beyond me. Give me a sword and shield and I can put down a greenskin or a beastman just as easily as any man with a gun'

With a soft chuckle, Rainier wouldn't quite say the same. He actually found the Empire to be quite interesting so far with many sights both wondrous and horrible. He himself had found many of their technological devices as of being quite fascinating, it must be nice for a lot of Imperials to have those clocks to tell the time, not like back in Bretonnia where most commoners like him used sun dials or had to look up at the sky.

Despite being quite comfortable in the wilds, Rainier actually enjoyed going to large towns and cities. He was especially interested in seeing all of the interesting wares the merchants had, some of which he eyed with a gleam. He also was quite interested in meeting many of the ladies around the Empire, it was nice to see the overall lack of disfigurements and inbreeding most Bretonnian commoners had.

Speaking of ladies, he noted that a short distance ahead of them there was a most peculiar short figure wearing a stone grey cloak and carrying a crossbow with a design he had never seen before. At first he thought it was a child but when the hooded figure turned around, he saw that it was a female dwarf. He could see the dwarf woman was a fair-skinned, green-eyed lass with strands of auburn hair, she was actually quite pretty to Rainier's eyes.

As the two Bretonnians moved aside to go around the dwarf, Rainier looked down and grinned to the dwarf woman of whom grinned back to him. He would certainly like to get to know her a bit better he thought a bit lasciviously.

'Seems like a very lovely place' Abelard said sarcastically 'You think it would be too much to ask if they have a good bottle of Quenellen Red?'

Looking back to Abelard, Rainier replied 'Wouldn't be surprised if they just served ale'

As the two men were about to enter the tavern with swinging double doors, a fat drunk staggered out and bumped into Abelard. The knight pushed the drunk away and began saying some rather harsh sounding things in Reikspiel. The drunk gave a rude gesture towards Abelard and he walked away. With a snort from the knight, Abelard entered the tavern with Rainier following.

* * *

'I need the help of someone who knows how to find the skaven!' Abelard announced loudly in Reikspiel as he caught the attentions of the crowd after raising his voice several times. 'I am willing to pay any man who can lead us to the ratmen!'

There was a series of nervous laughter and guffaws which did not seem very sincere, it was clear that none were interested. Disappointed at this, Abelard supposed that he should have expected this; the local authorities had similar reactions to his inquiries. With a disapproving grunt, he shook his head and went back to his table where Rainier sat.

'No luck eh?' Rainier said as he looked up to Abelard

'I swear, it is as if these Imperials are either ignorant or they are too cowardly to face the things' replied Abelard with disdain.

'I ear ya lads righ bou needin elp wi ratties?' came a thickly accented deep voice from behind the knight.

Looking back, he saw that it was a heavily tattooed and muscular dwarf with an outlandish single crest of orange hair. The dwarf had garnet colored eyes, a fiery orange beard with a very prominent moustache. On the dwarf's person, Abelard saw that he wore a belt of mostly human skulls, some of which clearly had borne the stigmata of mutation, and upon the sides of the dwarf were two mighty looking war axes with iron chains at the bottom which attached to the dwarf's bronze bracers.

'That we do good dwarf' Abelard said with a nod as he raised his right hand forwards in a gesture for a handshake.

'I tink we ken koom ta a agreemen, manling' the dwarf grinned as he grasped Abelard's hand in a painful vice-like grip.

Wincing at the dwarf's strong grip, the knight introduced himself 'Abelard du Artois, Questing Knight of Bretonnia'

'I be Jurgen Olafson' said the dwarf cheerily as his breath reeked of ale 'Daemonslayer o Kraka Ornsmotek oop in Norsca'

Norsca? Wondered Abelard, he had never heard of there being dwarfs up in the lands of those savage daemon worshippers. He had heard of their Slayer warriors though and that supposedly they were titled depending on the strongest things they had killed and to be a slayer of Daemons in a land primarily ruled by the followers of Chaos? Abelard was of course a bit suspicious but he had heard about how the mountain folk are supposed to be honorable warriors.

Rainier of course stood up politely and shook the dwarf's hand as well; Abelard could see his companion wince as well as his hand was crushed by the dwarf's grip. 'Rainier' he simply said.

'Well ya manling foun me at a gud taym ya see! Jurgen said enthusiastically.

'And why would that be _Monsieur_?' Abelard asked

'I was abou ta go down dem sewas ma'self aftah a few mugs o tha piss ale bein served ere' The dwarf said 'I be knowin wher dem ratties be yah see, ye lads is welkom ta be joinin me in choppin oop tha buggers!'

'I believe we are in accord then, lead on _Monsieur'_ Abelard said with a nod. The dwarf grinned and gave a quick laugh. Abelard could not help but note the mad gleam in the dwarf's eyes.

* * *

_several minutes later_

Walking upon a stone a narrow path on the side of a canal, Rainier was glad that they did not have to directly wade through the filth of the sewers itself. For some time now, the dwarf had been leading their party with a torch held up in Abelard's right hand, at the least they were not in total darkness. The sewers of Altdorf were quite different compared to the ones back in Bretonnia.

It seemed to be a lot sturdier and better maintained. The dwarf boasted according to Abelard that his kin from the east were the ones who built these sewers and that like all dwarf-made work it easily withstood the test of time. Amazing how the dwarf was rather proud of his people for building something so people can dump their shit in.

As they continued their path, the dwarf eventually raised his left hand and called for a halt. Surveying the area warily, Rainier was not sure why they halted, he heard Abelard speak in Reikspiel to the dwarf and the dwarf spoke back. Rainier barely understood what passed between them; he decided that he really ought to try to learn Reikspiel while they were in the Empire.

The dwarf then looked up to the ceiling and grunted, he then looked back to Abelard and said something. Abelard looked back and nodded to Rainier, the ranger knew what that meant as he pulled out his bow. With a deep inhale of fetid air, the dwarf roared '_KHAZUK_!' and he quickly began to sprint forwards.

Raising his shield high, Abelard ran after with shield raised high in defense as he followed the dwarf whose speed was amazing despite his short legs. Rainier heard several small pieces of metal clatter against Abelard's shield and the dwarf hurled his axe up towards the ceiling, the weapon began to illuminate with sparks of electricity wreathing it. Hearing a loud shriek of pain, as a body fell, the dwarf pulled back his axe using the length of chain.

Raising his bow up to the ceiling as well, Rainier had followed the path of the axe and the illuminated form of one of the skaven's cloaked assassins. With an arrow already knocked, Rainier fired a shot and he quickly went for another arrow. He heard another shriek from one of the skaven as a body soon fell into the water.

The dwarf continued to run as he hurled his other axe up at the ceiling, while Rainier kept on firing arrows. Abelard on the other hand, who carried no ranged weapons, remained on the defensive with shield and torch raised. Several of the skaven began to drop down into the water or withdraw as their paws still clutched the ceiling; the dwarf began shouting what seemed to be imprecations in his native language as the vermin fled.

'Le's go manlings!' roared the Slayer in Reikspiel as he looked back to Abelard. Nodding to the dwarf, Abelard struggled to keep up the pace due to his plate armor, he was glad that at the least, Rainier was there to watch his back. In the distance, Abelard saw movement within the darkness; he then saw the many small red eyes of the skaven as they launched a counter attack against the three.

The dwarf laughed and roared as he began to pick up his pace, he threw one axe towards the skaven horde and his weapon impacted against a furry head. Pulling the axe back and throwing the other one, the dwarf struck another skaven in the chest and he pulled the axe along with the body towards him. The dwarf then firmly grasped the corpse and used it as a shield with his axe as its handle as skaven blades began to bury into the body of their comrade.

Swinging his torch into the face of a skaven, Abelard heard the satisfying screams as the creature was burned by the fire. Using his shield to block a sword, Abelard retracted the torch and struck his other attacker as if he were wielding club. He felt a sword strike against the side of his breastplate and was relieved that his armor held, he then quickly delivered a bash from his shield into the skaven which struck him before he jammed the torch into its open maw.

Leaving the torch where it was he pulled out his mace for in such cramped confines, the length of his blessed long sword would be a hindrance. Bashing a skaven's skull to the wall and quickly parrying a spear thrust, the Questing Knight roared a prayer to the Lady for this most honorable of battles. Behind him, he briefly glanced back to see Rainier now wielding his short sword and hatchet, the ranger fought with the practiced skill in precision as he deftly parried and struck the attacks of the ratmen.

Re-focusing on the Skaven ahead, Abelard was amazed at the sheer number of bodies dropping from the dwarf alone. The dwarf roared and laughed like a madman as furry bodies were hacked apart by his twin axes which sparked with lightning. The dwarf continued to shout in his tongue towards the skaven, there was the constant repetition of the word '_Khazuk, Khazuk, Khazuk_'.

The skaven began to urinate themselves as they fled from the dwarf, some jumped into the water as they tried to flee. The dwarf then threw off his meat shield into the canal and he tossed his left axe into the filthy water. Abelard saw sparks of electricity begin to surge across the waters and the skaven which had tried to flee were electrocuted, with the foul smell of charred rats mixing with the smell of human offal, Abelard tried hard not to gag or vomit.

The dwarf continued to fight one-handed as he dragged the axe by the chain for a short time before pulling it out from the pungent waters. Seeing that the skaven were fleeing to a side entrance in the distance ahead them where a pair of lanterns hung around the edges, the three of them continued their pursuit.

The dwarf swiftly bounded off after the skaven, Abelard briefly lost sight of the dwarf before he heard him roar another war cry which was followed by the high-pitched chittering and squeaking of skaven. When the two Bretonnians arrived at the entrance not long after the dwarf, Abelard grimly saw there were a lot of the ratmen in a large room where several barrels were stacked upon the sides. The dwarf fought with frenzied abandon as blood and limbs showered him, not wishing to be further outdone by the dwarf, Abelard charged into the fray with Rainier at his back.

* * *

As the battle raged a deep voice roared amongst the din 'ULRIC!' Rainier briefly saw with surprise that it was the older man with a hook for a left hand who had bumped into Abelard outside the tavern. The man wielded a mace which he carried in his right and used with a surprisingly expert degree of skill. The man impaled a skaven through the skull and he splattered the brains of another with his mace. Not having time to ponder on their unexpected ally, Rainier parried a skaven's sword with his axe and he thrust his short sword into its chest.

With a squeal of pain, the skaven died as he pulled out his sword along with its guts. Quickly dodging to the side and barely avoiding a spear to the gut, Rainier pushed the spear away and he swung his hatchet into the neck of the skaven spear wielder. All around Rainier, the skaven were dying, Abelard furiously crushed their skulls with his mace as he smashed the snouts and faces of the ratmen, the dwarf battled against a skaven leader who wielded a pair of green glowing blades.

To Rainier's surprise, he saw the dwarf woman from earlier. The dwarf woman was stained in blood as she wielded a sword and a strange metal looking cudgel, she fought surprisingly well for a woman as skaven were gutted and bashed to death by her. Smelling that foul sour stench when the Skaven knew they were losing the battle, several of the Skaven tried to flee, but with the two parties between, many of them were cornered… like rats.

The skaven fought with renewed ferocity and Ranier was forced to be on the defensive. Taking several cuts to his leather armor, he focused on parrying, dodging and blocking while being able to launch a few attacks of his own. During the fighting, he saw a spear wielding skaven holding its weapon high as it was charging towards the dwarf woman. Without thinking, Rainier hurled his hatchet at it and the weapon directly caught the skaven in the back of its furry head. The dwarf woman briefly looked to him and Rainier gave her a wink before going for one of his daggers and rejoining the fray.

As Rainier continued to fight the skaven with his blades now coated with blood, he soon heard a high-pitched squeek followed by an ungodly smell burning rat again, he looked to see that the skaven leader was down and was being electrified by the other dwarf's axe which was lodged into its shoulder. The skaven leader voided its bowels and the dwarf stomped his left boot upon the skaven's head and splattering its brains around him.

As the last of the skaven either escaped or had been cut down by the five, a tense moment of silence passed as the two groups eyed each other for none had clearly expected to find allies down here. The Slayer tore his axe out from the dead skaven assassin, he then looked to the dwarf woman and from Rainier's position, he could see recognition upon the dwarf woman's face.

The male dwarf spoke in Reikspiel but Rainier was able to catch the dwarf woman's name, Vanyra Skorrisdottir. The dwarf woman was surprised as well as she spoke the name of the other dwarf, Jurgen. Noting the barrels the skaven were stacking up, Rainier wondered what was inside them. Moving up to the closest stack, he studied the barrels and saw red letters in Reikspiel, not understanding Reikspiel very well, Rainier had no idea what was inside.

He then heard Abelard speak to the dwarfs in Reikspiel, the dwarfs responded in the same language. Curious and at the same time, worried about what the barrels contained, Rainier tried to speak with what little Reikspiel he knew.

'What inside these?' he asked. The dwarf woman then went to the barrels to inspect them and she hissed something, probably some sort of dwarfish profanity. She then began to look about and was relieved by something. Hearing a loud pounding from above and suddenly feeling an unnatural charge in the air which caused the hairs on the back of his neck to stand, Rainier looked to his companions as they had all felt it as well.

Abelard said something to them in Reikspiel and the dwarf, Jurgen said something which Rainier understood with unease. 'Sorcery' the dwarf muttered with disdain, the word sent a shiver up Rainier's spine for he and Abelard had quite a few run-ins with sorcerers and witches in the past. The dwarf then pointed to a section of the barrels and began saying something in Reikspiel. The fat older man of whom was panting heavily said something in Reikspiel as well and the male dwarf nodded.

The male dwarf then said something in Reikspiel before going to the barrels and he began trying to lift some out of the way, Abelard quickly moved to help the dwarf and soon Rainier was helping the two of them.

* * *

'Ready everyone?' the dwarf, Jurgen Olafson said as he looked down towards Abelard, Rainier and the dwarf woman, Vanyra.

They were currently standing on a flight of wooden stairs which led into a wine cellar. With a collective word of acknowledgement, the Slayer grinned mischeviously and he slammed his bulk into the wooden door ahead of them. Bright light suddenly blinded Abelard for a moment and he heard the dwarf bellow in Reikspiel

'Avin a partee without oos? Na tha just be rude, manlings!' the dwarf shouted as if he were telling the punch line of a joke.

'Oh who the hell are you!?' came the voice of a man who spoke Reiskpiel with a Bretonnian accent which seemed way off.

Ascending after the male dwarf, Abelard emerged into a brightly lit hall of polished marble stone with a well-built look to it. Ahead of them were several men in ragged patchwork of armor and cheap weapons. The knight also noted a number of bleeding bodies of men in the uniforms of guards and some of the bodies were dressed much like the men they faced around the hall.

Leading these thuggish looking fellows, Abelard saw a man wearing chainmail and the tabard depicting the insignia of Montfort.

'In the name of the Lady!' Shouted Abelard in Breton 'Stand down explain yourself, villain!'

The man gave a surprised looked towards Abelard, as if he did not understand, he then looked to his fellows and ordered them to attack in Reikspiel. He then pointed his pistol at the knight and Abelard heard the male dwarf shout.

'Koom an ge it manlings!' roared the dwarf who then charged with mad laughter towards the men who stood against them.

Dropping his bloodied mace, Abelard quickly pulled out his blessed long sword which glowed with a fey light. Following the dwarf, he glanced back to see Rainier and the dwarf woman behind him. While he strongly did not approve of the idea of having a woman fight alongside them, he hardly had the time to argue the point at the moment.

Crashing into one of the men with his shield raised high, Abelard cut down another man with his sword and he impaled another one through the chest. Hearing the loud crack as the man in the tabard fired his gun, Abelard was briefly wreathed in a flash of white light, with a whispered thanks to the Lady for her protection, Abelard shifted his focus to the man in the tabard. Feeling a sudden chill up his spine, he quickly saw that amongst the men there was a sorcerer.

The sorcerer was a bald pale skinned azure robed man with a cloak of black feathers and at a closer look was completely hairless. The man's eyes glowed with multicolored light as he pointed a dark wooden staff with a dead crow tied to it. Rushing towards the man who was casting a spell, she was too late and a bolt of azure fire burst from his staff, the fire bolt struck the dwarf, Jurgen who roared in pain.

When the dwarf did not fall as the tattoos upon his body began to glow, Abelard left the sorcerer to the dwarf. Quickly hacking up the remaining men who proved to be poor fighters, saw that Rainier was holding his own quite well against their foes. Eventually, Abelard fought his way to the man in the tabard of who was trying to reload his pistol.

Clearly this man was no true Bretonnian for aside from not understanding Abelard, he had used a gun! A gun! Of all the cowardly ranged weapons in the world! Despite really wanting to kill this man, Abelard wished to question this man first and so with a thrust of his long sword, the knight impaled the man in the tabard in the right knee. As the man screamed in pain, Abelard smashed the man's face with his shield.

As the last of their opponents tried to escape, he saw the dwarf, Jurgen giving chasing and killing several more as he shouted at them in the dwarf language. Breathing heavily as the battle had been won, Abelard heard several footsteps behind him and he saw several well dressed men and women. The men were at the least, standing protectively in front of the women, but in Abelard could see that not all of them looked like they could hold a sword properly.

Coming forwards from the front of the gathering of what he guessed were merchants and nobles, Abelard saw a paunchy, bald-headed man with a white mutton-chop beard in a dark grey but almost black doublet and trouser with several gold medals over his left breast. The knight noted the man carried and ancient type of Tilean called a gladius in his right hand, the gladius glowed with a soft white light.

Beside the man, Abelard saw a very beautiful older woman in a purple dress with black hair, pale skin and with a wide assortment of silver and amethyst jewelry upon her. For a moment, Abelard was simply entranced by the woman's beauty; he could tell that she was probably as old as his own mother but that did little to hide his awe towards her. As his gaze lingered upon the woman in the purple dress, his mesmerized gaze was finally broken when heard voices speak.

'It seems we have you brave adventurers to thank for this evening' the paunchy black clothed man said in an accented Reikspiel which sounded Tilean to Abelard. The man then looked to the people behind him and said 'isn't that right?'

The crowd then began clapping and cheering for the them and Abelard gave them a Bretonnian salute along with Rainier.

'We have another member downstairs beneath the cellar, you won't like what's down there' the dwarf woman said as she raised her right hand.

'We should have a look then' the paunchy man said 'Lorenzo, Einhardt with me' the man ordered and from the crowd came two men, they had the look of mercenaries to Abelard.

'Would you care to lead us Signora?' the paunchy man asked with a slight bow to the dwarf woman who nodded to them. The dwarf woman then led the men downstairs into the wine cellar. Looking back to see if that beautiful woman was still there, Abelard noted that she was gone, the crowd of nobles and merchants soon began making their way out as they avoided the bodies of the dead.

The crowd also avoided the man in the tabard and Abelard was quick to refocus on the task at hand. Walking towards the man in the tabard who had attempted to crawl away, Abelard stomped his boot into the back of the man's injured knee. The man shouted in pain and he looked up in fear to the knight,

Abelard then spoke venomously in Breton 'You are going to tell me everything, scum. Or I will personally cut off your thumbs and force you to eat them'. The man clearly did not understand Abelard but he certainly picked up the threat in the knight's tone.

The man then looked to Rainier who nodded grimly towards Abelard before giving the man a threatening look for the Ranger had ways in making people talk.

* * *

Finally arriving at the white stone wall of the elf embassy, I looked back to my companion who looked up to the structure quietly. At the front, I could see a pair of tall slender warriors armed with spears and tall shields, each wore a breastplate of intricate, silvery armor with a skirt of scale armor.

'Well here we are' I said to my companion who gave me an appreciative look. The elf woman, Sariel nodded and said something in her language, a word of thanks I suppose. A little disappointed that it was all I was probably getting for tonight, I simply smiled politely back at her and she walked towards the doors of the embassy.

Well what now? I thought to myself for it was not like I had anything else to do. With a shrug, I was undecided if tonight was a complete waste of time or a nice one. Deciding to leave it at that, I supposed that I should head back to the chapter house, I wouldn't be surprised if Fraulein Herman decided to give me something especially arduous come the morrow.

* * *

Walking towards the gates of the _Asur _embassy, Sariel could not help but feel a tinge of excitement. Here, thought the wood elf mage, was the place where she would begin her path towards the home of her ancestors. Pulling her green hood down and revealing herself to the _Asur_ guardsman, Sariel was surprised that at a closer look, they were not real but mere illusion to keep unwanted visitors away. As she drew closer to the embassy's heavy double doors, she saw the doors slowly begin to silently open.

There was magic here, she realized and one she was unfamiliar with. As she walked in towards the embassy, she found that ahead of her, there was a pristine white stone room with a polished golden statue of the phoenix, Asuryan. Around the statue lay several cushioned benches, upon one of them, there sat an _Asur_ male in robes of white and blue with long golden hair and a golden circlet with a red gem upon it. She chould tell the _Asur_ was much older than Sariel and he gave her a warm, fatherly look. The Asur radiated with arcane power, a mage of Hoeth she realized with awe.

'I have been expecting you child' he said in Eltharin as he offered his right hand, palm facing vertically to her in greeting.

Returning the gesture, Sariel replied 'Then you know why I have come elder one?'

'Of course I have, daughter of Laurelon, for I have forseen it' he said. A seer as well! Sariel thought

'Unfortunately, that decision is ultimately not mine to make' he added.

'Oh? And whose decision is that elder one?' Sariel asked with curiosity

'We have much to discuss then child' the _Asur_ Seer said warmly. The doors of the embassy closed as silently as it had opened, with no trace left of Sariel's passing.


	3. A Night Out III

'Oh what in Sigmar's hairy pits am I paying all of you bloody bastards for!' angrily roared Bruno the Boar as his men ran past him. 'It's just one man!' he shouted

Standing in the middle of Stieglitz Street in front of a weirdroot den which his gang controlled, the crime boss reached for his heavy notched cleaver. Never having backed down from a fight in his life, Bruno sure as hell wasn't going to back down now. He had once been a champion pit fighter who realized that there was more money to be made in running an operation. Having worked hard for years to take control of all the rackets, the smuggling, prostitution and pickpockets this side of Altdorf, he was not about to let some random bounty hunter take it all away from him.

Down the street, he saw the bounty hunter who had been causing his gang so much trouble. The stranger was dressed in a fancy dark brown leather long coat and hat like a highwayman. With the mid-afternoon sun at the back of the highwayman, Bruno could only make out bounty hunters eyes which seemed to be dark purple; the hunter's face was covered by a kerchief of the same color as the coat. The bounty hunter carried a pair of bloodied truncheon in both hands.

For two days now, Bruno's gang the Stieg Street Pigs were taking a beating from this bounty hunter who had been after the crime boss. Most of his men had received rather severe thrashings from the bastard and already more than half had either been sporting broken bones or just had been too scared to come out of their homes. Cracking his knuckles, he was going to make sure that he would gut this bastard like the other bounty hunters and lawmen which came after The Boar. He had purposefully come out to face this bastard because that's how old Ulric likes a fight, straightforward.

With a loud roar, Bruno charged towards the bounty hunter who roared back, The Boar heard the bounty hunter shout 'Ursun!' in a voice which sounded a bit off for a man. Closing in, Bruno could tell that he was at least twice the weight and more than a bit taller compared to the bounty hunter. With the cleaver in his right hand, he brought the weapon down upon his opponent who quickly sidestepped and painfully smacked the Boar's right wrist and hip with the two truncheons.

Ignoring the pain, he backhanded the bounty hunter and struck the man with the flat of his cleaver. He heard a grunt of pain as the bounty hunter was knocked back but managed to stay on his feet. The Boar heard the jingling of chain links and realized his opponent must have been wearing some armor. That would just mean he would have to aim for the head then.

Swiftly turning to face the bounty hunter and not giving his opponent time to recover, Bruno thrust his meaty tattooed left fist forward towards his enemy's face. The bounty hunter ducked under the fist and thrust one truncheon into Bruno's belly and the other right into the crime boss's tender bits. Pain exploded in both areas as Bruno dropped his weapon from the dirty attack.

As he was about to reach for his groin, Bruno felt the truncheons smack painfully against his arms above the elbows. The bounty hunter then began to savagely beat the crime lord until the man was barely conscious. Now lost in a haze of pain and having the worst concussion of his life, Bruno barely felt his limbs being tied by rope, he certainly noticed soon enough when he was being dragged by the feet across the busy streets of Altdorf, he heard the clopping of horse hooves as he was painfully pulled away from Stieglitz streets.

* * *

Ignoring the curious looks of the crowd as they saw the man being dragged behind the horse of who was named Oleg, Sashura Kostina felt her jaw and was glad that nothing was broken. Walking on foot and wary of the crowd for any rival bounty seekers or more of The Boar's men, the Kislevite made her way to the nearest local City Watch station to claim her bounty. At the station, several guardsmen looked at her a bit dumbstruck at having dragged the bloody and barely conscious man all the way there.

'Oh what the hell is this!?' shouted the Sergeant Huss of whom did not exactly prove helpful in Sashura's hunt.

'He's Bruno the Boar, da!' the Kislevite said as she removed a roll of paper from the side of her belt and unfurled it. Showing the Imperials the sketch of the crime boss, the guardsmen studied it for a bit before looking to The Boar's face and making a comparison.

'Look like him sergeant' shrugged one of the guardsmen.

'All right, just wait right here' grunted the sergeant who gave a disdainful look to Sashura, the man had boasted how he would be the one to take down Bruno the Boar.

The guardsmen cut the ties around Bruno's feet and they helped the drag the big man to the station's jail cell. Soon the sergeant came with a clearly displeased look on his face, the man held in his hands a pouch which jingled with coins. Handing the pouch to Sashura the man said 'Thanks for the help' in a clearly none to honest tone.

Taking the pouch, Sashura opened it and looked inside. Pleased that it was the eighty silver shillings promised by the wanted poster, the Kislevite smiled and turned around. With a whistle, Yuri came to her and she gave a smile to her horse that whinnied as he scraped the cobblestone road with his hooves.

Feeling up to do a little celebrating tonight, Sashura decided to stable her horse at the inn she was staying at in Little Praag. She remembered hearing about a Tilean tavern which served some good kvas and vodka at a place called The Street of a Hundred Taverns. A night out at town would be nice thought Sashura.

* * *

Warily looking about underneath the hood of her cloak, Lucia Herman was growing a bit worried about her contact not showing up. Wearing a grey cloak and a suite of cheap leather armor, the Knight of the Blazing Sun looked like a common cutthroat. Keeping one hand in reach of the handheld crossbow on the side of her waist and the other by her sword's hilt, she saw thatiIt was late afternoon now as the sun was beginning to set.

'You really should learn to relax Signora Herman' came the voice of a man a short distance to Lucia's right as he spoke in their native Tilean. Looking to the man who was dressed much like Lucia, the only thing which was different about his attire was the ivory mask he wore which depicted a morose looking face

'I would rather maker sure no one tries to sneak up and slit my throat thank you very much' Lucia said in Tilean a bit defensively. The main raised his hands with both in front of the his shoulders in a gesture of a feigned apology

'True enough Signora, but you are so much more radiant when you are not so tense' said the man as he removed his mask to reveal the face of a handsome tan skinned man with curling black hair, a thin mustached and a goatee named Leandro Bellisario.

With a formal courtly bow from Leandro, Lucia reciprocated the gesture. Leandro, The Smiling Shadow as was the title he liked to use back in Tilea was once one of the best thieves in across the many Republics. For now, the thief was helping her on a task from the Temple of the _Bellona_.

'Do you know who the target is and what time it will be?' quietly asked Lucia in Tilean for even in the Empire where most spoke Reikspiel, one could never be too careful of ears listening more closely than they should.

'Indeed signora' nodded Leandro 'it seems our "friends" have put a contract on a Lady Wizard of the Empire. A shame really, quite the beauty from what I have seen' added Leandro with a mischievous smile.

'The wizard is not our objective' Lucia reminded Leandro 'what matters is that the assassin is found and questioned'

'Of course Signora Herman' said Leandro 'The Lady Wizard will be attending a party at the _Basilica de la Opulencia_. It will be hosted by a Signor Fuchs, a Marienburger who is making many deals with the Imperial Colleges of Magic, and it seems he is interested in expanding his trade to magical goods'

'Any idea why there is a contract on this wizard?' Lucia asked

'The Lady Wizard is a member of the Amethyst Order, and a powerful one with many enemies' replied Leandro

'So where do you think our assassin will try to kill this wizard?' asked Lucia once more.

'That will be problematic Signora' said Leandro 'for there are many places around the Basilica from where a skilled marksman could hit. Fortunately, I have found a solution in assisting your search of this assassin'

'And what solution would that be' asked Lucia more than a bit curiously

'I have talked to a few associates amongst the Imperial Colleges of Magic and called in a favor' Leandro said 'One which I can assure you will be most helpful in our endeavor'

'So where will the assassin strike from?' asked the Knight of the Blazing Sun who was now a bit worried. For like many, Lucia was not very trusting of mages and their ilk.

'One of the buildings west of the Basilica, I will show you where…'

* * *

With a large meaty fist thrusting towards the gut of a human male, the man fell to his knees upon the wooden floorboard as the loud smack of Jurgen Olafson's hand made contact.

'Naw I knowin tha ye be meking sum deels wi ta ratties, manling!' said Jurgen Olafson threatening as he proceeded to question the smuggler. All around the now ruined tenement which was being used as a hideout of sorts for one of the local human gangs, the bodies of men lay about broken, bruised but still very much alive after the thrashing the Daemonslayer had given them.

While Jurgen rarely bothered with law breakers for there was not much of glorious doom to be found with such foes, his interest was piqued when a human who was just high as a kite and clearly off his marbles actually tried to rob the Slayer. After giving the mugger a thrashing, Jurgen quickly noticed the Black Dust on him for it was the residue left behind from Skaven machines. After a second beating, the drug fiend had been more agreeable in informing the Slayer about where he went for his fixes.

'If I tell you…' the human man who now had a black eye, a ruined nose and several missing teeth groaned 'they will kill me…'

'An wha ya tink I be doin ta ya manling?' hissed Jurgen 'I koom frum oop nort een Norsca, wher dem daemoon loovin barbarians ave go soom bludy foon wayz ta tortare a fello'

The man looked to Jurgen with wide eyed terror at the mention of dark north where the forces of Chaos ruled.

'Is be simple manling, ye tellin me wha I wonna ear an ye be free ta go bugga of frum this ere citee' Jurgen said

'And if I don't?' the man asked fearfully

'Then I be givin yah tha Blud Eagle, manling. Is a mos paynful way ta die' replied the Slayer

'Okay! Okay! I will tell you!' pleaded the man of who to Jurgen's surprise seemed to know what it was. The Slayer supposed that since Norscans travelled about the Old World as mercenaries; it wouldn't be much of a stretch if word got around about some of their customs, especially the violent ones.

'Goo, naw wha ye go ta be sayin eh?' the dwarf said as he crossed his burly arms.

'The lads and I' groaned the smuggle 'were paid to deliver some barrels under some place in sewers, they paid us good money'

'An wha wus een em barrels?' Jurgen asked

'Don't know… ugh… can't read' the man said

With a harrumph Jurgen asked 'an exacly where ya be takin em hey?'

'Some fancy new place in the docks, has a Tilean name, big merchant party is supposed to happen there' the man said

'I see then…' muttered Jurgen as he swiftly delivered a knee kick to the man's face. The human then slumped down to the wooden floor. With a satisfied grunt, Jurgen left the tenement a bit pleased at his handiwork.

It seemed that the skaven were up to something and whatever it was, they were doing it under the docks. Having arrived Altdorf three days earlier, Jurgen had been quick to begin hunting for any monsters under the city sewers. There was also the fact that considering the two dwarf districts within the city, Altdorf was one of the few places in the Empire where a dwarf could get some proper ale.

Stepping out of the tenement and into the smelly, muddy streets, Jurgen shook his head in mild disgust towards the human city. Same as everywhere he thought for he and his luckily deceased friend, Thori Skorrison had been towards many places across the Old World during their adventures together. Lucky bastard got himself a good doom too.

The last time the two of them had been in Altdorf, they had been fighting skaven under the streets and Jurgen remembered there being a tavern quite close to a sewer entrance where the Sewerjacks and the Rat Catchers of the city often frequented. With a shrug, Jurgen was up for a go towards the Street of a Hundred Taverns, a Thousand some Imperials boasted, they probably served some terrible ale, but well it was better than nothing he guessed.

* * *

Walking down the Street of a Hundred Taverns, Sashura wondered which place she should go to. She could not read the names of the taverns for most were written in Reikspiel. She remembered hearing from a mercenary kossar back home about a tavern which had a Tilean name, quite popular amongst mercenaries and sellswords and it even sold good kvas. Missing Kislev a little, Sashura decided to pay this place a visit.

It did not take long for Sashura to find the tavern after asking for a few directions. _The La Guerra I Cani_, as it was named seemed quite nice from the outside with its Tilean design, it fittingly even had war dogs painted upon the walls. Seeing a group of men in the familiar fur designs of her homeland, she heard the men speaking to each other in the tongue of her homeland.

Walking towards the open doorway, Sashura strode through the well lit and smoky atmosphere within the La Guerra. The eyes of several patrons turned to her and many of the mercenaries sized her up. Here and there, Sashura could see several men and even a few other women clad in different types of armor of designs from other nations.

On one table she saw several mustached men wearing _chapka _hats and the fur coats of a Kislevite design. She also saw mercenaries in the dress of Arabyans, Tileans, Estalians, Bretonnians and to her disdain, Norscans. Removing her cap, and revealing her ash blonde hair which had been tied into a bun, she walked towards the tables with the other Kislevites.

When the Kislevites looked to Sashura, some of them grinned and smiled as they recognized a fellow Gospodar. Looking to the men, she noted a few Ungols and half bloods amongst them but for the most part, the Kislevite mercenaries were of Gospodar descent like her.

'Hail brothers!' Sashura said loudly in her native tongue as she gave them a Kossar's salute.

The Kislevites raised their drinks to her with a many loudly giving their greetings as well. Taking a seat by a group of men, Sashura ordered a bottle of kvas from the barmaid.

'So what brings you all the way south, sister?' Asked a burly golden haired man wearing a red coat with a bearskin cloak, he had a pair of war axes tied to his back which bore the suns of Dazh.

'Bounty hunting and mercenary work, the usual' shrugged Sashura

'You should join our company then sister!' the man said 'We have been hired to join up some Tileans; a lot of monsters in the forest are in need of slaying'

'Tempting…' Sashura said 'I will need to think upon it sir…'

'Aleksander, my dear lady' said the man as he lightly pounded his right fist over his heart 'Aleksander Petrenko'

'Sashura Kostina' she said as she introduced herself. While she found Aleksander a bit handsome, she noted that he had a golden ring on one of his bare hands. A little disappointed, Sashura was no home-wrecker.

Sharing a few drinks with the men around her, Sashura got know a few of them. One fellow, a mercenary Streltsi by the name of Vasili was also from Erengrad. Another fellow named Petrov from Praag was a swordsman whose father was a _Droyaska_ with Petrov himself seeking to succeed his father's legacy.

Feeling that familiar sense of camaraderie from her time amongst the _rotas_ and _pulks_ of Kislev, Sashura began to feel quite at home in the company of her brothers in this foreign land.

* * *

'Are you positive the assassin will strike from there?' asked Lucia as she pointed towards a building west of the Basilica.

'Indeed Signora' nodded Leandro confidently 'I have the utmost trust in my sorcerous associates'

'So how are we doing this then?' Lucia asked as she turned her gaze to Leandro

'We climb up and wait for our murderous friend, most likely he would be armed with a rifle or a crossbow to attempt an assassination at such a range' replied the Agent of the Shroud.

'Humph, Good thing I brought this then' said Lucia as she gently patted her crossbow.

'I will be sure to keep a watch on you Signora' Leandro said with a grin 'Let it be known that I was once part of the Marksmen of Miragliano!' said the Agent of the Shroud a quite proudly.

'Was this before you were with the Besiegers? Or after that stint with the Birdmen?' asked Lucia for Leandro often had many outrageous claims in regards to which mercenary companies he had served under. One particularly ludicrous tale involved having once landed upon a flying dark elf city and rescuing a Bretonnian sorcerers who had seen fit to reward the thief in a most generous and physical manner.

'Before the Besiegers Signora, that was why both Signor Braganza and later Signor Daddallo wished for me to join their companies' clarified Leandro

'Just make sure that if you see anyone suspicious on the roofs, you do not shoot to kill' Lucia said

'Of course, we will need our friend alive to know who he is working for' Leandro said

'So how are we getting up?' Lucia asked for she was not exactly skilled in scaling structures

'Don't worry Signora Herman' said Leandro 'I brought some grappling hooks and rope to get us up...'

* * *

Feeling quite warm and tipsy from all the drinks she had, Sashura had finally worked up the courage to go one of the tables near her own. Standing up with a bottle of kvas in hand, she confidently walked towards the table where the elf was sitting by. Her fellow kislevites had kind of dared her to do it and in a bit of a drunken bluster, Sashura had accepted.

As she drew closer Sashura saw the elf's eyes regard her coolly. She found that he was a rather tall, pale skinned, handsome and broad creature with icy blue eyes and silvery white hair. The elf was clad in robes of white and yellow.

While Sashura had seen elves in the past for in her home city of Erengrad, there existed a district which was inhabited by the Fey Folk; she actually never had much experience in actually talking to one. With soft inhale of breath, Sashura sat herself by an unoccupied chair and she rested her left elbow upon the table and placed the side of her face upon her left palm.

'Well you a pretty one' she said in Reikspiel while trying to sound as seductive as she could. The elf lightly grinned and gave her an amused look

'You are not too bad yourself' he said in a deep baritone voice as the elf spoke in perfect Kislevarin.

Surprised at how perfect his speech was, Sashura quickly switched to her native tongue and could not help but ask 'You speak my language as well?'

'Indeed' the elf said as he continued to give her a soft smile 'I was posted for a time in Kislev, after the Great War'.

A little surprised at the elf's words, Sashura had heard stories about how the elder races were supposed to be long lived but surely the elf must have been jesting. The elf then looked back to see the barmaid who delivered his order of cold cut meats and cheeses. Sashura noted the way the Imperial woman had been looking at the elf who then slipped the barmaid a pair of silver coins.

The barmaid then gave a smug look to Sashura, with a bit of disgust, the mercenary muttered '_Blyad_' under her breath. Taking another drink from her bottle of kvas, Sashura looked back to the elf.

'So what takes you to this fine city?' Sashura asked in Kislevarin

'My armor needed repairs and it was either here or Marienburg where I could find a smith who could repair it' the elf said. 'And you daughter of the Gospodar?' he asked 'What brings you so far from Kislev?'

'Well I arrived here with-' Sashura said but had stopped in mid sentence as she saw a group of Norscans coming towards them, narrowing her eyes with hostility, Sashura tightened her grip upon her bottle.

'Why don't you bugger off cat eyes' said one of the Norscans to the elf in a near perfect Reikspiel 'this place ain't for milk drinking horse fondlers'

The elf replied something in the tongue of the Norse and the marauders bristled in anger at whatever he said. About time Sashura thought for she and her brethren had really wanted to bloody the damn barbarians, she didn't understand why the Imperials would allow these Chaos worshippers to strut around freely in their own lands. Grunting in annoyance, Sashura knew where this was now going.

Taking one last drink from her bottle of Kvas, the Kislevite felt the comforting heat from the beverage as it went down her throat. Quickly flipping her grip upon the bottle, Sashura swung the emptied container towards the head of the nearest Norscan before rising up and upper cutting another. Feeling the impact as her gloved knuckles struck the man's bearded chin, she heard a loud cheer of "Ura" from her brethren.

Delivering a knee kick to the man she struck with a bottle and swinging the back of her fist towards another. As patrons quickly left and her both the norscans and her brethren rose up with grim and hateful looks, it was time to show these daemon-loving bastards some Kislevite hospitality.

* * *

Taking a swig from a tankard filled with some gods-awful excuse of ale, Jurgen wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Having a few drinks before a fight was always a good thing the Slayer thought, helps you ignore the stink of your foes, helps you ignore the pain and it helps you get in a good killing mood. He had already been asking around the city regarding a "fancy Tilean place where a merchant party was going on tonight". He been given the name of some place called the Basili- whatever it was called, from what he gathered, a lot of merchants would be there tonight, perfect spot for a massacre.

Sitting upon a table at the corner of the tavern, Mandred's Glory, Jurgen knew he should get going soon, would be rude of him to keep the ratmen and the possibility of a good doom waiting. Belching loudly, he heard the voice of a man shout over the din of the crowd

'I need the help of someone who knows how to find the skaven!' Looking over the crowd, he saw it was a human knight wearing the colors and heraldry of Bretonnia 'I am willing to pay any man who can lead us to the ratmen!'

Intrigued by the mention of gold, Jurgen reminded himself that chopping up some skaven was his goal. The knight's words were met with nervous laughter and the guffaws from the humans around them. Figures thought Jurgen, when he and Thorri had been fighting the skaven, it seemed that the human authorities turned a blind eye to the ratmen.

Walking up to the Knight who was speaking to a man dressed in leathers and a green cloak, Jurgen spoke up 'I ear ya right bout needin elp wi ratties?' The knight turned around and the dwarf got a good look at the fellow, seemed like a proper warrior thought Jurgen with satisfaction.

'That we do good dwarf' the knight said with a nod and he raised his right hand forwards for a handshake

Grasping the knight's gauntleted hand and giving a good shake, Jurgen said 'I tink we ken koom ta a agreemen, manling' He saw the knight wince a bit but maintained his grip, a good sign thought the Slayer.

'Abelard du Artois, Questing Knight of Bretonnia' the Knight said as he introduced in himself

'I be Jurgen Olafson' said the slayer in a cheery tone 'Daemonslayer o Kraka Ornsmotek oop in Norsca'

The other human stood up and offered his hand as well. Gripping the manling's hand and giving a firm shake the man just said 'Rainier'

'Well ya manlings foun me at a gud taym ya see!' the Slayer said with enthusiasm

'And why would that be Monsieur?' asked the knight

'I was about a go down dem sewas ma'self aftah a few mugs o tha piss ale being served ere' Jurgen said 'I be knowin wher dem ratties be ya see, ye lads is welkom ta be joinin meh in choppin oop tha buggas!'

'I believe we are in an accord then, lead on Monsieur' said the Knight with a nod. Jurgen grinned and gave quick laugh; this was going to be a fun night thought the slayer

* * *

Sitting down upon a soft velvet cushion as she looked out of the curtained window of the carriage, Rosalind Amsel looked towards the building ahead with wariness. The _Basilica del la Opulencia_ was a popular venue for both nobles and wealthy merchants to host balls such as the one being held tonight, going up a short flight of stairs with a red carpet laid over in welcome. She had to admit that the Tilean style of architecture of the structure was pleasing to her. Doing her best to quell the feeling of apprehension, the Amethyst Wizard knew that she was walking into a trap.

Shaking her with disbelief in getting herself into this, she saw a valet walk up to her carriage and opened the door. With a quiet word of thanks, Rosalind descended from the transport and her shoes which were honestly quite uncomfortable despite being considered fashionable, softly landed upon the cobbled road.

In her right hand, she carried a neatly folded piece of paper with the merchant's seal upon it. Behind her carriage and in front of it, wealthy merchants and a few nobles descended their own carriages which were as extravagant as their clothes; they reminded her of those peacock birds she had seen in the Imperial Zoo.

Lightly lifting up the skirt of her dress so it did not get too filthy but not enough to reveal her ankles, the wizard would have preferred to have come here with her robes which were easier to move in compared to this dress. The coachman of her carriages whipped the horses to move on; the wizard took a deep breath and ascended the staircase.

She saw the eyes of a number of men fall upon her as she ascended the staircase. She probably did cut a striking figure with the several pieces of silver and amethyst jewelry she had on her at the moment. Their opinion would likely be so much more fearful if they knew that she was a wizard.

Walking up to the large and opened double doors which were lacquered and studded with small golden discs which depicted skulls upon them, Rosalind doubted that the doors would be of any use in an attack. Two men wearing bright doublets of red and blue stood guard with halberds in resting in one hand were standing guard by the doors. These men had the scruffy look of Free Company mercenaries who had just cleaned up for the night's events.

Drawing close to the guard on the left, the man then spoke in a polite and respectful manner 'Invitations please, my lady'

With a nod, Rosalind handed out her invitation paper to the guard. The man gently took it with a thanks and he studied the paper intently. As the man looked back towards her, he and his compatriot gave the wizard a respectful bow and allowed Rosalind inside as he wished her a pleasant evening. Looking to the men and wondering if she should say anything about what may happen tonight, the wizard kept her mouth shut for she could not compromise her mission.

Walking across the polished marble hall of the structure, Rosalind heard the pleasant music of the orchestra mixed the voices of several men and women who were mingling with each other. Looking around the hall with a suspicious eye, the Amethyst Wizard tried to do her best in blending in. Gently taking a goblet of wine from a passing by servant bearing a silver platter, Rosalind continued to survey the crowd.

'Fraulein Amsel?' came a sudden but familiar masculine voice from behind her. Turning around, she saw a rather corpulent, bald headed man with a white mutton chop beard who was a little older than her. The man wore a dark grey, almost black doublet with several gold medals over the left side of his chest, to the side of prodigious belly; he had a sword of an ancient design which was currently sheathed in its scabbard.

'Signor Ferruccio?' Rosalind asked with a curious and surprised look 'Is that you?'

'Aye it is mein frau' replied the man in perfect Reikspiel with his lips widening with a grin 'I see you are as lovely as the day we met'

'And you certainly have… grown.' The wizard said.

'Too many years of good living does that' he said with a boisterous laugh.

Feruccio Vernazza was a Tilean mercenary general from Miragliano who had taken many contracts for the Imperial Army. Over the decades, he and his army of mercenaries known as the Iron Hounds had fought in many successful campaign against greenskins, chaos barbarians, the restless dead, beastmen, skaven, ogres, rebels and even dark elves. On quite a number of these campaigns, Rosalind herself had fought alongside the Iron Hounds and the mercenaries had even offered to make her an honorary member.

Offering a hand to the mercenary general, Ferrucio formally bowed and kissed one of her enchanted rings.

'What brings you here to Altdorf?' asked Rosalind

With a smile the man replied 'I am thinking of doing one last campaign before retiring, already I am to meet a potential employer tonight'

'You should retire you know' Rosalind said with a hint of concern for Ferrucio was certainly way passed his prime

'Nonsense' he said good-naturedly 'If Myrmidia had seen fit to gift me with good health, then it would be best not to go squander it. You should join me mein frau' Ferrucio then asked 'most of the fellows are just pompous fops who do not even know how to properly hold one end of a sword from the other. It would be nice to be here in company of a fellow veteran such as yourself.'

'I suppose I could' Rosalind said with a faint hint of a smile as she offered her hand 'For _Auld Lang Syne_'

* * *

As Sashura's right fist connected towards the gut of another Norscan, the barbarian bent over as the breath was knocked out of him. Delivering a knee kick towards the man's jaw, the Norscan's head jerk upwards before she slammed her elbow over the man's head.

As the barbarian slumped down with a concussion, Sashura saw as all hell had broken loose over the tavern. All around the _La Guerra_, men were pummeling each other with clear sides being taken. Her brethren of Kislev fought with Tor's fury against the Norscans who in turn fought with that all too familiar berserker rage.

Among them was the elf whose movements were a blur of speed and power. He wielded a wooden stool as a priest of the Imperial god Sigmar would with a hammer. She was highly impressed to see this elf cracking skulls and smashing heads with his improvised weapon.

Grabbing another bottle which still stood up upon a table, the sellsword quickly poured whatever was in the bottle into her mouth. Finding it to be an overly sweet Tilean brandy, Sashura quickly smashed the bottle into another Norscan's head.

Laughing and yelling with a savage drunken joy, Sashura barely felt the punches and blows which struck as she continued to fight against the barbarians. As the brawl continued, Sashura heard the distinct cracks of pistols being fired from the counter. Collectively, the Norscans and the Kislevites turned their heads to see the owner who was a grizzled and burly looking fellow who now wielded a pair of smoking flintlock pistols. Beside the owner were two more men holding blunderbusses at the ready towards the patrons.

'Get the hell out or get an arse full a lead!' shouted the owner quite angrily. With their fighting forgotten, the Kislevites and the Norscans quickly ran out a quickly as they could. Sashura and another man helped carry out one of their brethren by the arms as he bled from a wound across his scalp and his head rolled around in a daze.

As they quickly made their way out of the _La Guerra_, Sashura noticed the elf turning his back to the tavern, likely he was getting ready to leave. The sellsword quickly disentangled from the wounded man's arm and went towards the elf. Swiftly delivering a slap on the elf's buttocks, she saw him turn around with a surprised look on his face. Seeing the elf under the moonlight his silvery white hair and pale skin, she thought that the light enhanced his attractiveness.

'And where are you going pretty one?' asked Sashura with a bit of slur in her voice.

'I was planning on retiring for the night' the elf said

'What? And not give me a goodbye? Winter Vistor!' Sashura said playfully with feigned hurt. The elf seemed amused by this, she heard him chuckle and he gave her a formal bow

'_Do Widzenia_' the elf said

'_Do Widzenia_ to you too pretty one Sashura said in a flirty tone. Walking away and staggering a bit, Sashura guessed that she should head back to her inn soon. Not far away from the La Guerra, she saw a group of her brethren staggering ahead as well, each man raised their voices in a fireside song of the Oblasts.

_The Heart is as a new-strung bow_

_It knows not its strength 'til tested_

_Yet through it wounds its target deep_

'_Tis the bowman's flesh that festers_

Moving up to join the singing men and adding her voice to the song, the men glanced to Sashura and they quickly welcomed her in joining them.

_A woman is as a new-cut axe_

_She needs no strength for rending_

_Yet though she bests at every clash_

_She yields at battle's ending…_

As the group of Kislevite mercenaries walked down the busy Street of a Hundred Taverns in this land away from the Oblasts, Sahsura's feelings of homesickness had for now diminished.

* * *

Despite the noxious smell of human waste, Jurgen Olafson was somewhat glad to be back underground with hard earth over his head.

'This ere be dwarf work manling' boasted Jurgen as he glanced back to the human knight who held out a torch.

Typical weakling humans thought the Slayer, needing a torch to see in the dark and making them visible to the skaven. While Jurgen had no qualms with attracting the rats to them, he enjoyed being able to catch an opponent off guard and seeing the surprised look on their faces.

'You don't say' the knight said as he cautiously scanned the tunnel, his head was concealed by his helmet.

Jurgen heard the other human speak and both men quietly talked in Breton. Despite having been to Bretonnia in the past, Jurgen did not quite pick up their language; Thori Skorrison though and was able to speak Breton quite well to the humans. As the party progressed further down the tunnel Jurgen began to pick up the faint smell of warpstone.

Raising his meaty right hand and calling for a halt in Reikspiel, the dwarf began sniffing the air again and using his keen senses to figure out how close the Skaven were to them.

'What? What is it dwarf?' asked the knight

'Ratties be neer manling' replied Jurgen with a low hiss. Looking up Jurgen continued 'very close, ge ready'. Taking a deep breath of the fetid air and mentally preparing himself for what was to come, Jurgen's fingers reached for his axes and he removed them from the leather loops by the side of his belt. With a loud warcry which echoed down the tunnels, Jurgen roared 'KHAZUK!'

Sprinting forwards with the enchantments upon his axes crackled to life. He heard the whistles as several throwing darts and those strange metal stars used by the ratmen had hurled passed him. Throwing one of his electrically charged axes into the ceiling, Jurgen soon heard a high pitched shriek of pain as his weapon impacted against soft flesh.

With a satisfied grin, Jurgen quickly grabbed the chain which connected underneath his thrown axe and he pulled it back. Seeing a body drop from the ceiling, Jurgen saw the flurry of movement from the above as the skaven were quickly on the assault. As he readied his other axe, Jurgen heard another shriek of pain as an arrow from the archer struck one of the rats and its body fell.

Continuing to keep on throwing his axes and pulling them back by the chains, Jurgen managed to strike several of the skaven while the human archer kept firing his arrows. Eventually, the furious assault of both the slayer and the archer was enough to cause the ratmen to flee with many dropping into the coursing waters.

'What's the matter you dung eating mutant fondlers! Too scared for a proper fight!?' roared Jurgen in Khazalid. Switching back to Reikspiel, Jurgen shouted 'Le's go manlings!'

Sprinting further ahead while letting loose a mixtures of mad roars and laughter, he saw the red eyes of several skaven and his heart was filled with savage joy. Hurling an axe forward which embedded into the head of a skaven, Jurgen hurled his other axe which struck a ratman's chest. Pulling the axe back which dragged the body with it, the slayer got an idea.

As the ratman corpse drew closer, Jurgen held on to the axe which was stuck in the skaven's chest and he used its corpse like a shield. Swinging his axe sideways and splitting open a ratman's chest, Jurgen quickly moved his shield into the direction of a spear which was firmly stuck into the back of the corpse. With a swift counter swing, Jurgen decapitated the spear's owner before going back to the butchery at hand.

The humans seemed to be good enough fighters; the knight used his mace with great skill while the archer now wielded a hatchet and a sword with competent skill. Quickly dismissing the humans from his attention, Jurgen further embraced the battle rage which consumed him and he continued to keep on killing as he continued to roar 'Khazuk!'

The morale of the skaven was soon broken again and they began to release what they called the musk of fear with many of the rats jumping into the water. Outraged by their cowardice, Jurgen knocked his corpse shield off of his axe and into the canal. He then quickly threw the axe which had been connected to the corpse into the waters.

Lightning soon began to surge through the waters and the skaven who had thought to flee were quickly electrocuted to death. The smell of dead and burnt ratmen pleased Jurgen as he left and dragged his left hand axe in the water as he continued to fight one handed. Eventually, he pulled his left axe back up and he hardly cared about how it was now covered in wet filth.

As the skaven further ran away from the party, Jurgen gave chases as he continued to roar the same war cry. Following the ratmen towards a side tunnel which was lit with lanterns, Jurgen soon caught sight of a whole lot of skaven inside a room with several barrels. Among them, he saw an assassin who carried a pair of magic daggers.

Good, thought Jurgen. He was hoping for a proper fight.

* * *

Looking down over the top of the roof while lightly panting for she had caught her breath, Lucia was already having second thoughts about this plan. While she had done quite a number of crazy deeds over the years, the Knight of the Blazing Sun never did like heights. Looking to Leandro who was already making his way to the building, Lucia guessed that at the least, Leandro would have her covered.

Looking up to the night sky as the moon of Manann's lover was on the rise, Lucia wished that she had put on some extra layers of clothing, because it was getting really cold. The weather here in the Empire was so extreme in comparison to her homeland. Briefly missing Tilea and her home state of Luccini, The Knight of the Blazing Sun honestly felt little kinship with the homeland of her father.

She wondered how her squire was doing and hoped Gustav was not doing anything stupid. Myrmidia knows how many times the Tilean had to get that foolish Ostermarker out of trouble back when they had still been in the northern provinces of the Empire. While the boy certainly had potential, Lucia had quite the headache in dealing with his backwards attitudes.

Laying her back flat upon the brick chimney, Lucia exhaled and looked back to the night sky. The moon also reminded Lucia a bit uncomfortably of that night in Magritta when she had faced a Vampire and his army of walking corpses. She remembered that horrible battle when so many men and women had died, only for them to rise up and attack their former friends and family.

She remembered that intense duel with the vampire leader which had been the most difficult and the most terrifying fight in her life. She remembered every detail of the vampire's darkly handsome features as he wore armor of dark crimson and his sword which glowed with dark magic. She remembered driving her spear into his heart and hurling the vampire out of the stained glass window of the Bellona of the cathedral of the _La Hemandad Silencia_. She remembered seeing as the vampire had been caught in the light of the sun and had burst into flames as he fell from several stories up.

Lucia whispered a quite prayer of thanks to the _Bellona _for her continued survival. Shaking away the memory of that terrible battle, it seemed a bit of a relief to Lucia that tonight, her target as well as Leandro's was simply human. The irony was never lost upon the Tilean when she was relieved to be facing against simply other humans and not one of the countless unnatural horrors which seemed to plague their world.

Wrapping herself tightly with her cloak and reciting a silent prayer to the goddess, Lucia tried to take her mind off of the cold. As she patiently waited, Lucia heard clang of something behind her, opening her eyes with grim determination, Lucia glanced back to see someone climbing over the rooftop. Upon the man's back, she saw the unmistakable form of a long rifle upon his back.

Gripping her hand-held crossbow, Lucia knew what needed to be done.

* * *

As the music of the band filled the hall, Rosalind slowly danced and moved in a circle as her hands were held in Ferruccio's own.

'Do you remember that campaign back in Middenheim?' asked the Tilean 'With the White Wolves and those greenskins with the flag of the red claw?'

'I do, yes' Rosalind nodded for it had been a difficult campaign where she had fought an orc shaman in a duel of spells.

'Whatever happened to that White Wolf captain... what was his name?' Ferruccio said 'Adelbert? Albert?'

'Albrecht' clarified Rosalind 'Albrecht Krieger'.

'Ah yes that was his name, whatever happened to him?' wondered the mercenary

'Last I heard, he had become a hermit of some sort and now leads several packs of Wolf-Kin' replied Rosalind

'A shame then' said Ferruccio with a nostalgic smile for the Knight of the White Wolf had been a trusted ally in battle 'he always did enjoy events such as these.' Stepping away from each other in unison with the other men and women, Rosalind and Ferrucio formally bowed before continuing their dance again.

The Amethyst Wizard was already feeling a bit tense as her heart began to beat a bit faster. Should be soon now she thought with trepidation for she had been keeping track of the time. As they danced, she noticed the concerned look on Ferruccio's face.

'What is wrong Fraulein Amsel?' asked the Tilean

'Just wondering where Herr Fuchs is' Rosalind said 'I was supposed to be meeting him on matter for the Colleges'

Disentangling from each other again and bowing to each other along with the crowd, the Tilean then said 'probably somewhere here and mingling, or perhaps he may be running late?'

'I suppose he-' before Rosalind could finish her sentence, she suddenly felt a flare amongst the Winds of Magic. Looking towards the entrance of the ballroom, Rosalind kept her gaze upon it as she felt a shift in the Winds as magic was being used. It was the raw and terrible power of Chaos itself which left a sickly sweet stench in the Aethyr.

Suddenly hearing a distant crack of a gun being discharged, she heard in a split second, the shattering of one of the glass windows as something powerful struck her Aethyric shield and she was covered in a flash of energy. Ignoring the stunned looks of the crowd around her which looked to the wizard in surprise, she began whispering words of power and gathering up her magic. It was time now Rosalind thought.

* * *

'Ha! Ha! How's that ratties!' roared Jurgen in his native tongue as he cut down one more skaven and parried the sword slash of another. The assassin leader hissed angrily and leapt towards the dwarf as it thrust its blades towards him.

Barely blocking the attacks with both of his axes, Jurgen realized that this skaven was fast. Quickly on the assault again, the skaven leader leapt back and readied itself into an aggressive stance. With mix of angry chittering and hissing it charged towards the dwarf again with blades at the ready.

Around the dueling combatants, the Bretonnians were surpringly holding their own against the skaven, but the ratmen had numbers on their side. Suddenly, there came another deep voice which briefly caught the attentions of the skaven, the voice roared the name of the wolf gold, Ulric.

At the corner of his eye, Jurgen saw another human enter the fray from the opposite side from where the slayer and the Bretonnians had entered. Quickly turning his attention back to the skaven leader, Jurgen swung his axe towards the ratman who managed to parry the axe before thrusting its other dagger towards the slayer.

Parrying the blade, Jurgen was surprised at the Skaven's speed and skill. Never had he fought an opponent who had been able to survive for so long against his attacks. As the duel raged, Jurgen began to once again smell that sour stink which signified the Skaven's desire to retreat. The skaven leader quickly attempted to disengage as its kin began to fell and the slayer was deeply outraged by this.

The mystic tattoos which had been inked upon his flesh had began to glow and writhe as his anger was mirrored by them. Throwing his axe over the skaven leader, Jurgen quickly pulled the chain which caused the weapon to fly back to him. In an instant, the skaven leader was caught in the shoulder by the lightning imbued axe; it began to spasm and char as electricity coursed through its body.

Moving towards the cowardly creature who had given him a good fight, possibly one of the best he has had in centuries, Jurgen looked at the creature with anger and contempt. Lifting his left boot over its head, he stomped the Skaven's skull and splattered its brains. Hearing the skaven attempt to flee as they were cut down by his companions and the newcomers, the slayer pulled his axe out of the dead leader.

Looking to these newcomers he saw a blood spattered, portly human male with a hooked hand and a mace which surprisingly was of a dwarfish make, both the man's weapons were also smeared in gore. Beside the man was a to Jurgen's surprise, a rinn wearing a bright red tunic with a golden trim and a cloak of stone grey. As he saw the rinn's face, Jurgen could not contain his surprise as he recognized the face.

'Vanyra?' Vanyra Skorrisdottir? Tha be ya?' Jurgen said with disbelief as he spoke in Reikspiel.

He had last seen the lass during his visit to _Karaz-a-Karak_ where he had given to her the book and sword which Thori had made Jurgen promise to deliver if Thori met his doom first.

'I am surprised as much as you are!' she exclaimed in Reikspiel, her voice made it clear that her disbelief was equal to that of Jurgen's. Both he and Vanyra raised their hands and they clasped each other upon the forearms above the wrists.

'You know this dwarf' came the muffled but surprised voice of the knight

'Are' Jurgen said as he looked to the knight and grinned 'a friend o mine'

'What inside these?' asked the other Bretonnian in Reikspiel as he began inspecting the barrels which the smugglers had earlier set up.

'Oh _krut_!' hissed Vanyra who quickly went towards the nearest barrels and began inspecting them.

Soon hearing a relieved sigh from Vanyra, Jurgen wondered what was inside the barrels. As he was about to ask, he heard loud pounding from the ceiling above and the rush of something unnatural and all too familiar coursed through him. Feeling the hairs on the back of his neck stand, Jurgen knew the feeling of Chaos sorcery in use.

'By the Lady what was that?' the manling knight asked with alarm in his voice.

'Sorcery' muttered Jurgen disdainfully. Noting something not quite right behind one section of the piled barrels, Jurgen pointed towards it and said 'I be bettin it be a wayz oop, we ought a check it an see' he said. 'One o oos need ta stay dun ere an watch em barrels.'

'I will do it' said the hook handed human tiredly. 'Getting too old for this' he continued

'Right! Le's be going then!' shouted the slayer as he sheathed his axes and went towards the barrels. He began lifting one up and setting it aside while the Bretonnians quickly moved to help him.

* * *

Slowly creeping up to the marksman with the rifle as he had already set up his weapon, the Knight of the Blazing Sun already had her crossbow pistol pointed at the marksman. As she was about to say something, she heard the sudden bark as his rifle fired and soon a glass window shattered.

'Halt where you are!' demanded Lucia

The man quickly turned back and to the Tilean's surprise she could see that he had one of those wrist mounted crossbows upon his right arm. The assassin quickly fired a bolt which punched through her leather armor and embedded into Lucia's left hip. Sharp burning pain coursed through her as she hissed in agony and she instinctively fired her own bolt at the assassin.

Her shot caught the assassin below the right shoulder, the man hissed in pain as he jerked back from the shot. Tearing the bolt out from her hip, Lucia quickly pulled out her sword and was soon upon the assassin who seemed to ignore his own as he came at her with short sword. Upon the roof top, the two of them clashed blades.

Their fight was brief for a crossbow bolt from Leandro suddenly struck the assassin upon his right stomach. With a hiss of pain, the assassin lost his balance and he quickly leaned dangerously to his left. '_Merda_!' hissed Lucia alarmedly for she needed to take the assassin in alive. Quickly reaching for the man she hissed as the pain flared up again. Looking to the assassin, she saw him tumble off from the roof and fall down from five stories up.

Looking about frantically, as her mission was now most likely a failure, Lucia went to the end of the roof's ridge where the assassin had left his rifle. Picking up the long barreled weapon, Lucia hoped that with it, she could use it to help with finding out where it came from and who had given it to the assassin. With the grappling hook still around her belt, Lucia took a deep breath as she prepared to descend.

* * *

As the sounds of fighting could now be heard within the ball as the guards fought against their attackers, several of the attendants who had brought weapons soon reached for sheathed objects. Quickly using her Spiritsight, she surveyed the hall ahead and saw the guards were now either dead or dying, among their killers was a cultist of the Lord of Change who radiated with infernal power.

Through her Sight, she saw in a building not far from her, two people struggling upon a rooftop with one stumbling off towards a lethal drop below. Most surprisingly however was that she noted a familiar presence as well, turning her head towards the window which faced south of the Basilica, Rosalind looked up to see that it was the elf she had recently traveled with.

Highly surprised that the elf, Khorieus was there and that he was holding something which looked like a rifle but it reeked with the stench of Chaos and beside him, she saw the unmistakable form of a skaven. Quickly regaining her composure, Rosalind gave the elf a nod and soon he lowered the rifle. Swiftly turning her attention back to the group of armed men and the chaos cultists, she turned her head back to the double doors in anticipation.

The doors leading to the Basilica's ball room opened and Rosalind soon saw several men clad in cheap armor and carrying cheap weapons. Among them was a fellow who was clad in chainmail and wearing a white tabard which bore the Bretonnian insignia of Montfort, the man then began to shout

'_Viva la Bretonnia_!' roared the man wearing the tabard as he pointed a flintlock at the attendees. 'Tonight we cast down the corrupt pigs of the Empire!' roared the man in the tabard as he spoke in Reikspiel with a rather fake Bretonnian accent 'Tonight we show all the fates of those who oppose King Leoncouer and the Lady! _Viva la Bretonnia_!'

The man in the white tabard's words was soon echoed by his henchmen who all took a dangerous step towards the attendees with weapons raised. Rosalind saw the eyes of the cultist who was upon her, she was his target for tonight and she knew that the cultist was the true ring leader of this rabble. Already having prepared a deadly spell, she was about to cast it before she suddenly heard a thud from the hall where the rabble were and a tattooed dwarf with a bright orange crest emerged from a door to the side.

She then heard the dwarf slayer shout in a deep voice and a bit too cheerfully tone 'avin a partee withou oos? Naw tha jus be rood manlings!'

As Rosalind was distracted by the sudden appearance of the dwarf, the man in tabard shouted in Reikspiel towards dwarf 'Oh who the hell are you!'

In response, Rosalind heard a new voice shout in Breton and emerging from where the dwarf came was a man clad in the plate armor of a Bretonnian Knight and wielding a bloody mace. The man in the white tabard visibly blanched at the sight of the Bretonnian, he then ordered the men to attack the dwarf and the knight as he pointed his gun at the knight.

'Koom an ge it manlings!' roared the slayer who laughed maniacally as he charged towards them.

The knight dropped his mace and he pulled out a sword which glowed arcane power, the knight followed after the slayer and following them was another man who was dressed like a forest ranger and another dwarf who also looked like a ranger. The party of adventurers was soon upon the rabble and each of the four of them proved to be highly skilled fighters.

Hearing the discharge of the pistol from the man with the white tabard, Rosalind saw a flash of white light surrounding the knight and for a moment, the wizard felt a warm comforting presence within the Basilica. Quickly shaking her head and focusing the power of _Shyish_, she saw the cultists point his staff towards the slayer and a bolt of blue flame shot out flew towards him.

As the bolt struck, the Slayer, he roared in pain but did not falter as the tattoos upon the slayer's body began to glow and radiate with power. As the cultist began casting another spell, the other dwarf who wielded a sword and some sort of metal cudgel was soon upon the cultist. The ranger's sword struck the sorcerer and a flash of blue light appeared as he too was wreathed in a barrier of Aethyric armor.

As the cultist pointed a hand towards the dwarf, Rosalind had finished channeling the Wind of _Shyish _and she unleashed a mighty volley of magic missiles. The bolts struck the cultist's barrier with such power and intensity that the man was staggered from the attack. Unleashing another volley, the cultist looked to Rosalind as his barrier was struck and he began chanting a spell to use against her.

Soon enough, the slayer was upon the cultist and his axes which crackled with lightning began pummeling the cultist's Aethyric armor. Casting another volley of bolts, the sorcerer's barrier quickly weakened and the dwarf ranger took the initiative and charged the cultists with cudgel held high and roaring the name of the dwarf god, Griminir in a surprisingly feminine voice.

The dwarf ranger's cudgel smashed the cultist's skull as it buried itself into his brainpan. The cultist fell upon his back towards the bloodied floor and the rabble of men quickly began fleeing from the party of adventurers. Rosalind noted that the man in the white tabard was injured but alive.

'Well that was quite convenient' came the relieved voice of Ferruccio as he held his sword. 'I'd like to know what is going on' he added as he soon stepped forwards with Rosalind following after her old comrade.

At a closer look at the adventurers, Rosalind saw with a bit of surprise that the dwarf ranger was a woman. The other ranger though had much of his features concealed by a green cloth which matched his cloak and covered and it covered his face from nose to chin. She only saw the other ranger's eyes which were brown, almost like the skin around his eyes.

'It seems we have you brave adventurers to thank for this evening' Ferruccio said gratefully towards the adventurers, he then looked to the crowd behind them and added 'isn't that right?' the attendees then began clapping and cheering for the adventurers as the two bretonnians gave them a military-like salute.

'We have another member downstairs beneath the cellar' said the dwarf ranger 'you won't like whats down there'

'We should have a look then' Ferruccio said 'Lorenzo, Einhardt, with me' he called to his two bodyguards and two men who despite also being well dressed, they still had the look of hardened mercenaries.

As the mercenaries followed the dwarf, Rosalind quietly moved passed the bloodied hall. She was not quite sure of what exactly was going on for everything did not exactly go as planned. Regardles, her missioned seemed to be quite the success. All what was needed now was to "question" those responsible for tonight's events.

* * *

'What do you mean you can't find the body!?' asked Lucia with shock

'I checked the alley Signora and our assassin was not there' replied Leandro more than a bit disturbed.

After making her way back down to the ground, Lucia had met Leandro who was already there to report his findings. It was just impossible for someone who had been shot twice and taking a five story drop could have actually survived and gotten away so quickly.

'I will show you Singnora' Leandro said and Lucia followed him. Brought to the alleyway where the assassin fell, Lucia saw the splatter of fresh blood upon the cobblestones but no body, as if the assassin had just vanished. 'What do we do now Signora?' asked Leandro worriedly.

'We will have to report what happened tonight, every detail' Lucia said with a sigh.

'As you wish Signora' nodded Leandro wearily.

Frustrated and angry at how this mission had gone, Lucia decided to retire for the night and head back to the chapter house of her Order.

* * *

Fumbling a bit while trying to fit the key into its hole, Sashura struggled to open the door leading to her room. Eventually managing to place the object inside, she turned the key and soon she heard the click as the door unlocked. Turning the handle and opening the door, Sashura staggered into her room without even bothering to lock the door.

As he made her way to her bed, the sellsword simply just collapsed and fell face first upon the mattress of straw within burlap sacks. Sashura quickly passed out and began snoring drunken stupor.


	4. A Night of Secrets

Walking down the flight of stairs with the three humans behind her, Vanyra found the room with the stacks of black powder just as she had left it. Lugo who still looked exhausted had waved at the dwarf and the three other men.

'_Merda_…' whispered the man who had introduced himself as Ferruccio as he saw the several stacks of barrels as well. 'And you say the skaven put these here?' asked the Tilean man in disbelief, at the least Vanyra thought was that the humans of Tilea acknowledged the existence of the ratmen, not like the Imperials.

'According to Jurgen, these barrels were placed here by manlings being paid by the ratmen' Vanyra said with disgust.

'Gods sir' one of the men, the one she thinks was named Einhardt said 'there is enough here to blow us all up to Mannslieb'

'We should probably contact the local authorities and let them sort this out' said Ferruccio 'I don't think having a skaven and a chaos sorcerer in one place is a coincidence.' Softly snorting at the idea of contacting the Imperial authorities, Vanyra was sure the manlings would deny the existence of the ratmen, stupid creatures she thought with derision. At the mention of the sorcerer, the two bodyguards and Lugo made signs to their gods to ward away evil.

'There was a witch up there?' Lugo asked with surprise

'Aye manling' replied Vanyra 'I got him though so nothing to worry about'

'What about the others?' Lugo asked 'those Bretonnians and the Slayer?'

'Their fine manling' replied Vanyra 'Come on, let's go upstairs, I could use a drink'

* * *

Chugging down a freshly opened bottle of Estalian brandy as he sat in the now emptied ballroom, Jurgen sure felt thirsty after killing all those skaven and those humans who had been with the sorcerer. Having helped himself since all the guests and staff left, the Slayer thought that having a few bottles would be the least he could take as a reward for a good nights works.

Loudly belching and gently pounding his chest, the Slayer wondered what the skaven were planning. Sure they were going to blow the place up, that much was obvious but to what end? Perhaps those Bretonnians knew for they seemed to have been hunting the rats in the first place. Now that Jurgen thought about it, he was also getting a bit hungry, standing up and walking towards one of the tables where several plates of food had been laid out, the Slayer decided to help himself.

Filling up a plate with sausages, cheeses, bread and a leg of duck, Jurgen thought with contentment that this was the life. As he continued to eat and drink, he noticed Vanyra and the human she had been with, earlier.

'Oi, free grub an drinks aroun!' Jurgen said cheerfully.

'Well don't mind if I do then' the human said mirthfully, 'sorry what was yer name mein herr?'

'Olafson, manling' replied the Slayer as he offered a hand 'Jurgen Olafson'

'Lugo' the man said as he tightly gripped Jurgen's hand and gave it a good shake 'the little lassie here tells me ye was a friend o Thori too?'

'Aye tha I was manling, travellin aroun tha Ol World we did' nodded Jurgen 'Even saw tha loocky bugga meet a good doom.'

'I would like to hear what happened to him then' the manling then said. Glancing to Vanyra, she gave him a nod and it was all Jurgen needed to know. Any friend of Thori Skorrison was a friend to Jurgen's as well.

* * *

Swiftly thrusting his right knee into the face of the man wearing the white tabard, Rainier felt the impact as his knee connected and the man's head jerked back as blood burst from his ruined nose. They were in the wine cellar of the building, above the several kegs which according to Abelard were filled with black powder. Abelard himself was nearby and holding a lantern as he grimly watched Rainier do his work.

'I can do this all night' hissed the ranger with contempt as he spoke in Breton. The man moaned in pain as he laid sprawled out upon the stone floor as his face was blackened and bruised from the savage beating Rainier had been giving him. The man then began to babble something in Reikspiel, he laughed and spat blood and a tooth upon the ranger's boots, it was clear that this man was no Bretonnian.

'He says that he won't talk' said Abelard as he translated.

Looking to the man in the white tabard, Rainier said then said in a calm and yet threatening tone 'Could you please tell him that what I am doing now is merciful compared to what the Witch Hunters will do and that I can still make this merciful, otherwise we will give him to the Witch Hunters.'

Abelard nodded and began to translate in Reikspiel and soon, the man began to blanch in terror at the mention of the Imperial Witch Hunters. Tales of the brutality and ruthless of the Empire's Witch Hunters were well known amongst many folk in Bretonnia. Tales of their fanaticism and their willingness to burn down entire villages and put their populations to the sword in the search for one mutant or chaos worshipper.

The man then began to speak something in Reikspiel and Rainier saw Abelard listening intently to the man. Abelard then looked to the ranger nodded 'He is willing to talk now'

* * *

Wearily sighing as I made it back to the chapter house, I could not help but now feel like I kind of wasted this night. Knocking on the front door, I soon heard footsteps from behind and soon the door opened to reveal Frau Herman. To my surprise, she was wearing a dark cloak and a cheap set of leather armor which made her look almost like a common cutthroat.

'My lady?' I asked with curiously as she stepped back to allow me inside. 'Why are you dressed like that?'

'I was doing some… errands, one which you do not need to concern yourself with' she said tiredly. 'You should get some rest boy; your training will begin early'

'yes my lady' I said as I went towards my quarters and feeling none too thrilled about what tomorrow would bring. As I prepared to retire for the night, I could not quite but wonder on what had happened to the elf maiden I had met earlier.

* * *

Quietly kneeling in front of white stone shrine with a statue depicting the mother goddess as she wept tears of joy as stone children surrounded the goddess, Sariel offered a quite prayer to Isha. Having been given quarters within the _Asur_ embassy, the wood elf mage had at the least seemed to have impressed the _Asur_ Seer with her display of magic. According to the Seer, she would be assigned to a guardian who would watch and observe her.

Ultimately, it would be this guardian's decision that would decide whether she would be fit to travel towards Ulthuan or not. She hoped that she could impress this guardian enough; perhaps if she were lucky, she might even by assigned towards an Archmage who could take her in as an apprentice.

* * *

As the shadows dissipated and sight began to return to him, Khorieus soon found himself in a bright torch-lit hall where several humans were busily working upon a variety of objects upon tables. Accompanied by the two wizards, the high elf still carried in one hand, the unconcious skaven he had mercilessly beaten. On one side, he saw several men working on strange metallic devices, some of which even moved upon their own accord. Engineers he guessed for the high elf had noticed a number of rifles and cogs which lay about.

On another side, he saw a group of robed human wizards debating and arguing about something, each one radiated with the power of one of the Winds. Near the mages were several alchemists working with a complex array of glass spheres which contained liquids or gasses. On another side, Khorieus even saw several men wearing the distinctive hats and long coats of Witch Hunters as they knelt in prayer to a statue of the human god Sigmar.

'What is this place?' Khorieus asked his two companions.

'We welcome Herr Alatanrieth to the Order of the Shrouded Hammers' replied the wizard, Stefan von Wurtbad. 'We are a coalition of enlightened men and women from all across the Empire who seek to defend the Empire from many of the more subtle and insidious threats'

'Is that not already the purpose of your Witch Hunters?' Khorieus asked a bit curiously

'Yes it is' added Rosalind Amsel 'but the Witch Hunters serve and answer to the Church of Sigmar. The Order though is as you can see, made up of not only Witch Hunters but wizards, priests, scholars, engineers, thieves, assassins and knights, all serving their part in defense of the Empire.'

'I see then' Khorieus said and then asked 'and what role do I play in all of this?'

'You have already encountered one of the skaven Herr Alatanrieth' Stefan then said 'the threat they pose to the Empire is one which must be shrouded in secrecy and yet it must be combatted as furiously as we would with Chaos or the greenskins.'

As far as Khorieus was aware, most Imperials seemed to refuse the existence of the Skaven, despite the words of the dwarfs and even having fought wars against the vermin. It was one of the many testaments to their race's stupidity thought the elf.

'There is also something you need to know about the Skaven which operate here in Altdorf' Stefan added a bit grimly 'some things which need the skills of great warriors and heroes'

**To be continued in Act II**


End file.
